


Red Light

by sarahyellow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930's, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Catholic Steve Rogers, F/M, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prostitution, Rape, Slurs, Steve Rogers' Gayborhood, Voyeurism, prize fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-04-07 22:53:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14091468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow
Summary: Steve hates the struggles that come with being poor. Hates it more how Bucky's always getting himself busted up in those damned prize fights. He wishes he weren't so sick and that he could hold on to a job long enough to make some real money.He gets offered a job as a call boy at the St. George Hotel and decides that he can't turn it down.





	1. Henry

Steve walks home after a day of work at the greengrocers. It’s raining lightly—just barely. A sort of dripping rain where nothing really gets wet. It’s not unpleasant to walk through, especially since it’s min-July now (Steve just turned 18 last week) and the temperatures are somewhere in the eighties most days. When Steve walks home at five thirty, the day’s just barely starting to cool off.

He crosses Pierrpoint and turns the corner at Henry Street, reaching their block. Bucky and him have been living in the apartment together for almost a year now. It’s small and it’s bare-bones, but it’s theirs. Steve walks down the block. The bum who always sits along the gutter by St. Anne’s greets him with a wave, and Steve offers him a smile. It’s a little less painful to ignore the bums in summer, when the weather’s good. It’s the winter that’s hard. 

There are always bums in Steve and Bucky’s part of town. Brooklyn Heights was never the richest neighborhood and the depression certainly hasn’t helped matters. Things are getting better, Steve knows. Some people are finding work again. Hell, _he’s_ found work again, and that’s saying a lot because nobody really wants a chronically-ill shrimp on staff. Steve’s lucky to be working again. But the bums still exist, hanging out on their block in the alleyways and the stoops of the tenements and begging for food or, more often, money. Steve doesn’t make a habit of avoiding them on his walks home from work. It’s more like _they_ ignore _him_ , as if just the sight of him—skinny, slight, sickly Steve Rogers—is enough to broadcast that he’s got no money to speak of and certainly none to give to beggars. 

He _does_ get propositioned occasionally by one or two of the fellas who regularly loiter at the corner—the ones who slick their hair back with pomade and wear worn but fashionable-enough clothes. Steve always shrugs their offers off. He doesn’t balk at the fact that it’s men who sidle up and ask him if he’s lonely. That’s not uncommon in their neighborhood and it isn’t like Steve isn’t queer himself. But even if he did have the money to pay, hiring a sex worker just isn’t his style. He politely refuses the offers when they happen and returns to his and Bucky’s bare-bones apartment each time.

.oOo.

Steve’s just come home after being let go from his job at the greengrocer. He’s depressed and angry. They’d had to fire him, logically he knows that. There’s plenty of guys out of work who don’t miss six days (or more) of work a month due to some malady or other, guys who can lift the crates of produce and shipments of meat that Steve just can’t. It hurts his pride, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

He tries to throw something together for dinner as he knows Bucky will return home from the garage tired and hungry, but finds only enough for fixing a single bologna sandwich instead of two. A glance at the money jar shows a little change—not enough for more groceries. Sighing, he figures they can each have half a sandwich and he’ll give the majority of their leftover potato stew to Bucky. Payday is Friday, he reminds himself. They can make it until then. Steve’ll receive his last wages and they’ll keep on the way they always have, with a lot of love and a little luck.

While he’s cooking Steve turns on the radio to try and improve his mood. It has a bit of an effect. He sets a pot of water to heat on the stove so that Bucky’ll have the assurance of warm water to wash his face and hands with when he gets home (the water heater in the hall bathroom has been iffy again, now that fall is closing in). He stirs the reheating stew, which is almost entirely potatoes where once it would’ve had chunks of pork as well. That’s how Steve’s ma used to make it, but she’s dead and things are just so different now. Life is bleaker, and sometimes Steve is surprised that the world is still in color instead of grey. This depression is terrible, seems never-ending. Steve can only take comfort in the fact that he has Bucky, whom he knows will never leave him no matter how bad things get. _Till the end of the line_ , he’s always saying. Steve knows that he means it, feels it when the two of them lie naked and warm against each other in bed. With his poor health and lost job though, Steve just feels like he’s dragging them to the end of the line so much faster these days.

.oOo.

It’s raining. Steve is at home drawing and feeling useless as he can’t find a new job. He’s got the sniffles and Bucky has made him promise to stay in from the weather instead of looking for work. Steve tosses his notebook aside, disgusted. He had to drop out of art school three semesters ago due to lack of funds and it makes him feel guilty that he holds resentment in his heart about that. There are more important things than art school. The staccato of rain against the window winds up lulling him into a fitful sleep sometime in the afternoon. When he wakes, the sun has mostly set and Bucky’s puttering around in the kitchen, washing his hands at the sink. His hair and clothes are soaked.

Steve sits up and scrubs his eyes. “Sorry,” he grunts. “I should’ve put something together for dinner.” What that is, he doesn’t know. Spaghetti might’ve been doable. 

“It’s fine,” Bucky says. He’s got his back to Steve and doesn’t turn around once he’s got his hands dried, which makes Steve furrow his brow.

“Buck?” 

“Hm?”

“How was work?” 

Bucky’s shoulders rise minutely in a shrug. “Good. It was good.” Bucky’s boss keeps cutting his hours. But Steve knows he keeps on at the garage because there’s no other work.

“Oh.” Steve sniffs, still shaking the fogginess from his nap away. He doesn’t like that he was sleeping while Bucky was off working hard all day. His eyes scan the room of their apartment and by some chance land on the money jar. There’s a handful of crumpled bills in it. Steve frowns as it isn’t Friday yet. He gets up and walks over to the jar, reaches in and grabs the cash. There’s eleven dollars total. Steve’s guts sink because he knows what this means. “Buck,”

Bucky ignores him.

“Bucky. Turn around.”

For a moment it seems as if Bucky won’t do it, but after a beat he does. Steve sighs in disappointment. Bucky’s got a busted lip and his cheekbone is bruised. His eyes though, they look defiant. “I won,” he says. “Beat one of the O’Malley brothers, if you can believe it.”

“God damn it Bucky.”

“I’m fine Steve. And now we’ve got enough money to eat steak for a week if we want.”

Steve snorts. They both know they won’t waste the money like that. He stuffs the dollar bills back into the jar. “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger like that,” he chides. He hates that Bucky does the fights. It’s degrading, most of all to Steve since it’s just another reminder that they need the money because he’s out of work— _again_. “Look at you,” he scolds, reaching up to tenderly touch Bucky’s cheekbone. Bucky winces but doesn’t pull away. “You’re a mess, Barnes.”

Bucky’s lips quirk. “You gonna clean me up, Rogers?”

“Hmph.” Steve doesn’t say anything more, but he does go to put a pot of water to heat on the stove. The tenement’s water heater is still on the fritz.

They wind up sleeping with their pajamas off that night, bodies pressed close and naked together. It feels nice, provides the closeness that both of them are craving. Bucky’s hands find Steve’s hips and yank him close enough for their erections to touch, and he fumbles his calloused hand over both of them at the same time until Steve shoots, messy and wet, over his fingers. Bucky follows not long after.

They’ve been doing this for a while, since not too long after Bucky moved in and got drunk one night and kissed Steve square on the mouth. He’d reeked of whiskey and Steve hasn’t been able to drink it since, but neither has he been able to quit his friend. They sleep in the same bed, not out of necessity now but because they’re intimate with one another. 

They don’t talk about it and Steve still doesn’t know if they qualify as lovers, but Bucky touches him at night and Steve always kisses back, and they don’t linger with the dames in the dance halls like they used to, so maybe there’s a name for what they are. Queer’s one of them. Steve doesn’t know what else.

.oOo.

Steve returns from early morning mass wearing his Sunday best, toes pinched from the ill-fit of his dress shoes. Bucky’d been too lazy to wake up and come along, but Steve just kissed him and told him none-too-sternly that he was headed straight for hell. Bucky just murmured something sleepy and unintelligible into the pillows. 

Steve’s expecting him to still be there in bed when he returns, but he isn’t. The bed’s rumpled and empty and Bucky’s coat isn’t on the hook by the door. He’s gone out. Sunday’s his one day off so Steve doesn’t know what he could possibly be doing this early. It’s barely nine o’clock in the morning. 

Steve gets his answer when Bucky pushes through the door at noon. There’s a bruise forming over his eye worse than before, and it’s pretty obvious that it’ll be a black eye before the day’s over. He walks gingerly when he crosses the room. “Jesus Buck.”

“M’fine.”

Steve huffs. “You’re not fine.” He gets up and grabs Bucky by his jacket sleeve, not missing the way he winces at being stopped. “Christ” (Steve is going to need another confession soon if he keeps racking up these curses). Bucky’s hurt worse than before. “Please tell me you didn’t crack a rib or somethin’.”

Bucky pulls his arm away, limps over to the couch. “I said I’m fine.” His grumpy tone is telling.

“I take it you didn’t win.”

Bucky’s silent and tight-lipped, but he does shake his head. Steve sighs and goes over intending to join him on the couch. “Just… don’t,” Bucky says, clipped, before Steve can sit. “I don’t need to hear it from you today.”

Steve’s countenance darkens, hurt. “Is that so?” Bucky says nothing. “Well alright then,” Steve snaps, incensed. Bucky’s gone and fought again and this time he’s hurt worse than before. Steve’s hurt by Bucky’s words but he’s mad because he knows _he’s_ still to blame for Bucky fighting in the first place. The money from the last fight lasted them over a week, but then rent was due and they ate it all up. Sighing, he figures it’s best if he just gets himself out of the apartment for a bit. He goes over and grabs his coat from the hook. “I’m going for a walk,” he says. He doesn’t wait to hear Bucky’s answer before heading out the door.

.oOo.

He goes out for a walk. It doesn’t take him long to regret leaving the apartment in his Sunday shoes. He’ll have blisters for sure from walking so long in them but somehow he can’t seem to bring himself to care. He trudges on, ignoring the pain at his heels. Eventually he gets far enough that he passes by the St. George hotel, and he regards it with a sort of jealous disdain. It’s fancy—the kind of place guys like he and Bucky could only ever dream of staying in. He stops and stares from across the street to watch a couple of rich people getting out of their car and strolling in. It’s a couple of fellas, and one of them has a coat on that’s lined with fur at the top. Indignance stirs in his gut. How dare folks be so damned rich that they can waste money on fur coats when people like Bucky and Steve are struggling to make ends meat? When stupid sons o’bitches like Bucky are out getting the crap kicked out of them for money. It makes Steve frown at the Hotel’s fancy front doors. 

On a whim, he crosses the street. He goes in through the shiny revolving door, even though the doorman standing just inside gives him a disapproving look. “Bags sir?” he asks, knowing full well that Steve has none. 

“I’ll have my man bring them in later,” he snarks. 

Inside, Steve observes the lobby. He marvels at how there are still enough people with enough money to keep hotels like this one in business. There are velvet couches inside where other, well-dressed people loiter. Glass café tables further in host folks having Sunday brunch. Steve walks over to the lounge and sits himself in one of the plush chairs. He fairly sinks into it, the velvet upholstery smelling like some vacant guest’s perfume. Surely, he thinks, someone will notice him soon and he’ll be asked to leave. 

A server passes by and asks him if he’d like to order a drink. Steve declines. It takes a few minutes, but eventually Steve notices that a man across the way is eyeing him closely. He’s standing at attention, wearing a plain but finely-tailored suit, and it’s obvious that he works in the hotel to some capacity. Steve prepares to be kicked out. 

The man approaches and sits down in the next chair over from Steve. His back is straight despite the softness of the chair, and he doesn’t exactly make eye contact when he begins talking. “Fine hotel, isn’t it?”

Steve twists his lips. “Yeah I guess.”

“…You’re not a guest here, are you?” The man clearly knows the answer to his own question, and Steve sighs.

“No.”

“My name’s Henry,” the man says. He finally glances over to Steve, and Steve can see that he has sharp, expressive eyes. 

“Steve,” he offers after a beat.

Henry nods. “I couldn’t help but notice you,” he says. Steve can’t tell the meaning of it but Henry quickly continues. “You’re a handsome fellow.”

Okay. Now Steve stiffens. “Excuse me?” He’s got a bad feeling that he’s about to be propositioned. Because it isn’t exactly normal for a guy to sit down next to another guy and just start calling him handsome, is it?

Henry gives him a _look_. “I hope you won’t be offended.”

“Offended by what, exactly?” Steve asks.

“I work at the front desk here,” he explains. He jabs a thumb in the direction of said desk, with its counter of marble and fancy dark cabinetry. “A large part of my job is to cater to the guests’ needs.”

“…Okay.” Steve still doesn’t understand.

“In an unofficial capacity, I provide a connection between _certain_ guests, and the individuals who are inclined to spend the night with them.”

Steve stares at him for a minute, stupid about what the man is saying, until he’s not. “Oh,” he blurts, figuring it out. “Oh! No I’m,” he shakes his head. “I wasn’t doing that, I swear. I just wanted to come in and sit for a while.”

Henry smirks. “I wasn’t accusing you.”

“Oh.” Steve relaxes marginally. He’s still blushing from what the man has just told him he does as part of his job. He’s a pimp of sorts. “Well okay then.”

“Anyway, I couldn’t help but notice your physique.”

“My… my what?”

“A lot of men would go for you.” 

Steve blanches. “Why are you telling me this?” he asks, even though he’s got a feeling he knows exactly what this is leading to.

Henry shrugs. “I’m offering you employment, so to speak.”

 _Employment_. The word makes Steve perk up even as he scoffs. “I don’t think so,” he says. He’d never do that. Not in a million years. He thinks of the poofs who stand around on the corners in his neighborhood.

“So sure?” Henry says, sounding none too put off by Steve’s refusal. “You could make a fair amount of money. I only take about ten percent.”

Steve grips his fingers against the armrest of the chair, preparing to push up and away. But he just can’t help himself from asking, “…How much?”

“Plenty to support a little lady, if you’ve got one at home.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but his mind goes straight to Bucky. Straight to Bucky and his black eyes and split lips and bruised ribs. “How much?” he repeats.

“Pretty fella like you? Probably a quarter on Saturdays,” he says.

Steve scowls, pushes up from the chair at last. He feels sick. “You’re making fun of me,” he says. “Thanks but no thanks.” _A quarter a night, what a joke_. He makes to leave, but at the last second Henry’s hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. Steve tenses. “Let me go.”

“That’s twenty-five dollars, ya punk.” He’s lost his refined air of speaking, but Steve’s eyes go wide for another reason.

“Twenty-five—”

“ _Dollars_ , yeah.” Henry smirks. “You get me now?”

Steve’s breath halts as he contemplates that amount of money in dollars, not cents. And that much every Saturday? That’d be a hundred dollars a month. That kind of money could keep he and Bucky afloat for three months if they spent wisely—groceries, rent, new shoes, everything. Hell, if he saved, Steve could afford to start back up at the college. 

He has to force himself to leave the hotel.

.oOo.

At home from his walk, Steve is immediately apprehended by an apologetic Bucky, who takes him in his arms and hugs him gently. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Steve can tell from his tone of voice that he genuinely means it. “I’m sorry for fightin’. And I’m sorry for missing mass with you for it.” Bucky knows that Steve likes the company at church since his ma died.

Steve can’t help but to cringe into Bucky’s shoulder. If only he knew where he’d just been. Over Bucky’s shoulder Steve can see the frying pan that’s on the stove. “You making eggs?” he asks. All of a sudden he feels his stomach rumble and realizes how hungry he is from skipping breakfast earlier. 

“Already made,” Bucky says happily. He pulls back from the hug and urges Steve to take a seat at the table. 

Steve does and Bucky brings over plates heaped with scrambled eggs for the two of them. There are even bits of sausage mixed-in. Steve knows that Bucky prefers his eggs over easy, sloppy enough for dipping toast into the yolks, and his heart warms a little more at the thought that Bucky’s made the eggs the way Steve likes them as part of an apology. He picks up his fork. “This looks real good Buck. Thanks.”

Bucky smiles at him. He’s got the radio playing and the tune’s a chipper one. Steve can’t make his mood match it though. He’s still thinking about Bucky fighting, and about how Steve’d stormed out of the St. George without really considering Henry’s offer. Bucky’s shiner is developing into a nice, deep blue already. 

“I’m real sorry for fighting,” Bucky tells him again. “Especially on a Sunday.” He doesn’t promise to stop fighting altogether, and Steve hates himself for not pursuing the argument. They both know that they need the money from those fights. Steve stabs some eggs onto his fork, gut burning with anger at the fact that he needs Bucky to put himself in physical danger just so that they can have enough fixings for bologna sandwiches. The eggs in Steve’s mouth suddenly have no flavor and he wishes he could spit them out. He’s never felt lower in his life.

.oOo.

It’s a Saturday evening, the sun dipping low. Steve walks down the city street. Bucky had been getting dressed to go out when Steve left, scraping the bottom of the pomade jar and scolding Steve for not coming along to dance. Steve had excused himself by saying that he was going to head down to the library before it closed. But Steve isn’t anywhere near the library now. He stops, shoes even with the fancy limestone that edges the steps of the St. George hotel. He steels himself and goes through the shiny revolving doors.


	2. Frank

Henry smiles when he sees Steve walking into the lobby. He jerks his head for Steve to come over, and Steve follows him back into a room behind the front desk. It’s small, cramped. There’s a battered old desk with a lamp on it, bags and parcels and various sorts of luggage stacked almost to the ceiling, and the air smells stuffy. Steve shuffles awkwardly in place. He’s worn his nice clothes and used some of Bucky’s pomade. He’s figured that much is expected of… guys who do this sort of thing. _God_. He’s always heard the rumors about what goes on in the St. George Hotel. Now he’s a part of it. 

“How are ya?” Henry asks. He’s got more of a Brooklyn twang tonight than he’d had when Steve first met him, and Steve figures that the guy was just putting on an air to lure him in.

Well, he’s here, isn’t he?

Henry explains to Steve how it works. “You can hang out in the lounge all night,” he says. “I’ll let you know when you’re needed, which room to go to, that sort of stuff. Have as many drinks as you want while you’re waiting; they’re free. The bartender will know you, the doorman too so don’t worry about being kicked out or nothin’.” Steve is about to ask how these people are supposed to know him, but Henry keeps talking. “Just don’t get sloshed. Customers don’t like that.”

The word ‘customers’ makes Steve wince but he steels himself and nods. “Alright.” No real worry of that, since he’s not much of a drinker anyways.

Henry produces a small jar of something. Steve takes it, one glance down revealing it to be a container of Vaseline. Steve’s brow furrows, confused just for a second before he figures it out. Bucky keeps a jar of Vaseline in the bedside drawer. He’s circumcised and uses it to jerk off. …And he’s gotten it out the couple of times he’s tried to slip a finger in Steve’s ass. Steve blushes even harder. His fingers tighten around the jar, wanting to get it out of sight. He shoves it in his pocket. “Kay,” he mutters, not wanting Henry to think he needs to explain what it’s for. Steve knows damned well what it’s for. 

Henry laughs. He turns around and goes digging in one of the desk drawers and comes up with a handful of rubbers. “Here,” he says, handing those over to Steve as well.

Steve accepts them but his brow furrows in confusion. He’s not sure why he’d need condoms. Unless… “Do dames ever,” he clears his throat, mortified. “Do they pay for—”

“Naw,” Henry says. “Hardly ever.”

“Then why?” Steve asks, gesturing to his fistful of condoms. If he’s not risking getting some dame pregnant…

“You’ll need ‘em,” Henry says sternly. “Don’t want to go picking up some crusty VD.”

Steve doesn’t know what a ‘VD’ is, but ‘crusty’ doesn’t sound so good, so he pockets the condoms too. He makes his way back into the lobby when Henry shoos him out there, pockets full of Vaseline and condoms. It’s outrageous and embarrassing, but also kind of fascinating too. Steve feels like an event; like a character study. He thinks that in other circumstances, he’d have been compelled to sit and sketch the sorts of fellas who sat around all made-up in the lobby of the St. George hotel. 

Ha. He kind of _is_ one now. 

He sits himself down on one of the plush chairs and this time accepts the offer of a drink when one of the servers comes by. He’s not supposed to get sloshed, but in no way does Steve intend to do this sober. He sips his drink when the server delivers it and waits for Henry to tell him he’s got a customer. 

-

Henry calls him over to the front desk about an hour later. Steve has to hurriedly put his drink aside. He’s had three in the past hour, more than he intended but… oh well. He likes the warm buzz it’s put in his body. He feels more loose-limbed now and the prospective task of sleeping with some john for money seems only about three quarters as intimidating as it had when he’d walked in. 

“Hey,” Henry says when he’s got Steve pulled to the side of the front desk. “Got you a customer.” Steve raises an eyebrow. “S’a real easy one, good for your first time.” Henry reaches out and straightens the lapels of Steve’s jacket. Steve wants to smack his hands away but doesn’t. “I’ve seen this guy before. He’s married I think. Nice. Boring. Never given any of my other boys any trouble.” He pats Steve on the shoulder. “You should be just fine. Don’t have to be nervous.” Steve doesn’t say anything, but inside he’s thinking that he’s going to be nervous no matter what. He’s about to go and suck some guy’s cock for money, after all. The thought makes him flush. In front of him, Henry says, “It’s room five twelve.”

“I just go up and knock on the door?” Steve asks.

“Uh huh. And the rest is… well,” he shrugs. “You know.” Steve grimaces internally. Maybe externally too because Henry gets a sympathetic look on his face. “Look,” he says. “If you’re straight, just pretend it’s a lady, okay? Use your imagination and you’ll get through it fine. Most of these guys don’t want nothin’ complicated anyhow. A suckjob and some compliments, you know?”

Steve grumbles, “Kay.” He’s not straight, but he doesn’t tell Henry that. He’d already come into this figuring that he’d picture Bucky to get through it. He’s doing this for Bucky, after all. For the both of them. He has to remember that. It’s just for the money. A thought strikes Steve then. “Do they pay you or do they pay me while I’m up there?”

“You.” Henry says. “Everybody gets an hour. If they leave early that’s fine, but don’t stick around longer.”

“Okay.”

“And it’s ten bucks an hour.” 

Steve’s eyes go wide at this. “Holy cow,” he mutters. Ten whole bucks just for an hour with somebody. Steve thinks about his wages he’d gotten at the green grocer. Seventy-five cents an hour, that’d been. He wonders if he should feel flattered that somebody is willing to fork out that kind of cash for him. He resolutely decides not to be.

Henry’s still talking. “Doesn’t matter if they want to fuck or if they wanna complain about their wives. Same price. Make sure you stick to that. If somebody leaves without paying you don’t fight ‘em. Just call down to the desk right away and we’ll make sure they don’t get out without paying.”

“Okay.”

“And”—here, Henry’s eyes get serious—“if anybody gives you any trouble you walk right out. Don’t make a racket about it, just leave.”

Steve frowns. “What do you mean, ‘trouble’?”

“I mean if anybody starts trying to rough you up and it ain’t what you agreed to,” Henry tells him. “Or if they got another person in there with ‘em and they won’t pay extra—because that _does_ cost extra. Or if they won’t use a condom or do something really weird.”

Steve blanches. He doesn’t know what constitutes ‘really weird’ in Henry’s book, but he figures it can’t be good. And he’d just been getting his mind wrapped around the idea of servicing _one_ person, let alone two. _Jeeze_ , this is turning out to be far more complicated than he’d imagined. “Um, okay,” he replies, voice sounding small.

“Good.” Henry pats him lightly on the cheek. “Go get ‘em champ.”

Steve wants to make a face at that, but he reigns himself in. He turns and goes of in the direction of the elevators, mind circling round with the room number and the rules he’s been given. 

He takes the elevator up to the fifth floor. Henry’s given him a name—Frank—but he’s warned Steve that it’s certainly a fake. Steve knows to address the customer by that name though. Steve thinks he understands. If he were a married man out to purchase gay sex, he doesn’t think he’d use his real name either. 

He knocks on the door to the room, not unaware of the fact that it’s made out of fine mahogany; intricately carved and with a fancy brass handle. Steve thinks that at least if he’s doing this, he’s doing it in a fancy place. That fact matters more to him than it probably should.

The door opens and he’s greeted by a man who is utterly average looking. He’s about as tall as Bucky, has a pleasant face, and is going bald at the corners of his hairline. He smiles at Steve and takes a step back from the doorway, inviting him in. Steve goes in, looking about the room anxiously. It’s fancy and tidy. The bed’s still made, and he figures that this means the man—Frank—has checked into the hotel just to do this. Steve turns once he’s reached the middle of the room. 

Frank is watching him with a pleased expression, hands tucked into his suit pockets. “Gosh,” he says. “You’re just as pretty as he said.”

Steve’s eyes widen and then he blushes. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him pretty before. Not even Bucky. “Um, thanks,” he mumbles. He’s just standing there, not knowing what to do. He’s sure he must be radiating insecurity, but Frank doesn’t look like he notices. He’s looking at Steve with undisguised desire in his eyes, as if Steve is something special. Steve isn’t used to that and he averts his eyes.

“You want a drink?” Frank asks. Steve glances up. Frank’s already moving over to the room’s sideboard. It’s stocked with a crystal decanter of some amber-colored liquor, and Steve thinks that this Frank guy must be pretty well-off to be able to afford the luxury. 

“Um, sure.” Steve’s already had three drinks and is pleasantly buzzed from them, but he likes the idea of having another, especially now that he’s alone in the room with this man. Frank doesn’t seem particularly offensive, seems like quite a normal guy as a matter of fact, but that only does a little to quell the nerves twisting Steve’s gut. He goes to sit on the end of the room’s bed, watching as Frank pours them each a finger of what’s probably whiskey.

“Here,” he offers, handing Steve his glass and joining him on the edge of the bed. 

“Thanks.” 

They each sip their drinks silently, and then Frank says, “I ah, I’m not exactly used to this. I’ve only come up here a few times.”

Steve pauses. He looks over at him. Frank is looking at him earnestly. He looks shy but… sweet. It’s a silly thought but Steve can’t shake it. He blames it on the booze. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Frank shrugs. “I mean this isn’t my um,” he chuckles, “my neck of the woods, so to speak.”

 _Oh_. Steve gets it. “You’re trying to tell me you’re not gay,” he says.

“Yeah.” Frank frowns down at the glass that he’s holding in his lap. “I’ve got a wife. Two kids too.” He shrugs. “Don’t know why I keep coming back.” He sounds so sad. “Guess I can’t shake it. I just…”

“Hey.” Steve tosses back the rest of his drink and bends over to set it on the carpet. He rises back up and looks at Frank, slides a hand up over his thigh. This’ll probably be easier if he can keep Frank from talking too much, just get things moving towards the inevitable. “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” he says, hardly knowing where the words are coming from as he says them. “Just gotta let yourself relax,” he says. “Stop thinking so much and just feel good.”

Frank’s eyes light up. “Yeah?” he breathes.

Steve tries to smile a little at him. “Yeah.” He reaches up and cups the guy’s jaw. It’s scratchy from the five o’clock shadow he hasn’t shaved off. Steve swallows, tries to project sensuality and confidence into his voice as he says, “What can I do to show you a good time?”

Frank’s features melt into relief and lust, and he presses his face against Steve’s hand with a shaky exhale. “Oh,” he says. “What’s your name beautiful?”

Steve pauses, tries and fails to think of a lie, and winds up saying, “Steve.” 

“Steve,” Frank repeats back to him. “You’re a peach.”

Steve’s lips quirk. He’s never been with anybody other than Bucky, but this doesn’t feel so bad. Frank’s not so unattractive, and even if her were, he at least seems like a nice guy. “Thanks,” he says. He shifts, getting closer to him on the bed so that their thighs touch. Tentatively, he pulls Frank’s face towards his. “Is this okay?” he asks quietly, intention to kiss him clear.

“Yeah.” Frank shudders. “Yeah.” He surges in and smashes his lips against Steve’s. It’s wet and graceless, but Steve relaxes into it and lets the guy take his mouth. Steve has never thought of himself as a particularly skilled kisser, but with the sloppy way Frank is attacking his mouth right now, Steve feels like he might have to reconsider that. After a moment he pulls back to escape it, trying to smile and give Frank smoky eyes.

“Eager beaver, huh?” he jokes.

Frank huffs. He leans back onto the bed, supporting himself with his arms. “Can you… can we do more?” he asks.

Steve feels himself nodding without really meaning to. “Sure,” he says. “What do you want?”

Frank’s eyes darken, gaze focusing in on Steve’s mouth. “Want you to suck me,” he says. Crudely, he reaches down and palms himself through his slacks. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you sugar?”

Steve tries not to wince. He smiles and nods, slipping down off the bed to get on his knees. This act at least isn’t entirely foreign to him. He’s done this with Bucky a time or two. “C’mere,” he murmurs, reaching for the fly of Frank’s pants. Frank just watches as he undoes his zipper and tugs down on his underwear. Steve bites his lip, pulling on the cotton briefs until Frank’s erection pops free. He’s half hard already, cock curved against his one thigh. “Oh,” Steve says, feeling relieved. Frank isn’t very big. Definitely smaller than Bucky. He’ll be easy to take. “That’s swell,” Steve says, knowing that he should probably flatter the guy.

Frank chuckles above him, reaches down to stroke himself a few times. “You think you can handle it?”

Steve glances up to him and sees that the guy is serious. Again, he tries to force his expression into something resembling arousal. “I don’t know,” he says. “Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

Frank groans and Steve pushes his hand away so that he can get a hold of him. He’s warm and firming up in his grip. It’s a nice feeling. Steve thinks of nights spent under the covers with Bucky, how much he likes it when Bucky hardens in his hands, against his stomach or his tongue. He tries to forget about Frank and just think of Bucky instead. It’s almost working but…

“Put your mouth on it,” Frank grunts from above, ruining Steve’s concentration. “Wanna see you suck it.”

Steve flicks his eyes up peevishly. “Yeah?” he asks. He fists his cock a few times, thumbing precum down from the head to slick the way. “Okay.” He bends down and takes Frank’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh! Jesus!” Frank curses instantly, thighs going tense beneath Steve’s arms. “Oh yeah.” Steve’s only just gotten his mouth on him but already he sounds like he’s close to blowing his load.

Steve bobs down, trying to ignore Frank’s ridiculous cries and just focus on opening his mouth, getting him all the way in. Frank’s like Bucky—he’s circumcised, and Steve finds that he has to work up some spit to make the job easier. Once he’s done that his lips glide along his shaft much smoother, and he brings up a hand to aid in the job.

“Goddamn Doll, you look so good sucking my cock like that,” Frank huffs breathlessly. It’s amazing how fast he’s gone from bashful to lewd. “Tug a little harder, will ya?”

Steve listens, tries to treat it like a lesson as he tightens his grip and jerks more roughly than he himself would like. It seems to do it for Frank though, because pretty soon he’s grunting even louder, moaning and hitching his hips up towards Steve’s face. It almost makes Steve choke a time or two, but he doesn’t. Frank grabs Steve’s head in both hands when he gets close, crying out and humping against his face. Steve’s nose is mashed against his pubic hair and he feels overwhelmed, but he focuses on breathing through his nose and relaxing his throat until Frank can get off.

“Oh! Aggh!” Frank’s hands tighten painfully in Steve’s hair, his hips freezing. He shoots off in Steve’s throat and groans. “Oh _God_.” A moment later he relaxes and releases him, and Steve pulls away and looks up. Frank has flopped down on the bed. His eyes are closed. Steve pauses and glances around for somewhere to spit, but in the end just winds up swallowing his mouthful of cum. “God, that was good,” Frank huffs, eyes still closed. “Fuck.”

Steve gets to his feet. “You liked it?” he asks.

“Jeesh, yeah.” Frank peeks an eye open at him. “Thanks.”

Steve shrugs. “No problem.” Really it hadn’t been enjoyable for him, but at least it’d been… inoffensive. Steve thinks of the times that he’s sucked Bucky’s cock before and he can’t help wondering what it is that makes the experience so much more enjoyable with him. Bucky’s bigger, and he certainly doesn’t come so fast as Frank does... On the bed, Frank makes another tired, pleasured noise and Steve is drawn from his thoughts. “Do you mind if I uh, use the bathroom?” he asks. He’d really like to rinse his mouth with some water from the tap.

“Sure thing,” Frank says lazily, waving his permission at Steve. Steve crosses the room and goes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind himself.

When he comes out, Frank’s gone and there’s a crisp ten dollar bill on the bed.


	3. Bucky

By the time he leaves the hotel at midnight, Steve’s had three more drinks and one more customer. Henry takes ten percent of what he’s earned, which winds up being two dollars. This means that Steve’s got enough cash in his pocket for the whole week of his and Bucky’s expenses. Maybe more, if they stretch it thin. And what’s more, Henry tells him that tonight wound up being a slow night, that usually Steve’d have no problem getting four or more customers if he wanted. Steve doesn’t know how to feel about that. On one hand, being with four guys in one night is alarming, but on the other hand… forty or fifty dollars would be enough for a month’s rent. And that all being earned in just _one_ day? Steve can’t help but be excited at the prospect. On the walk home it occurs to him that sex work isn’t as bad as he’d been thinking. Hell, the two guys he had tonight only wanted him to suck them off. 

The second guy had been a little older. He hadn’t offered Steve a name like Frank had, but he’d actually been handsome and though it makes him blush to remember it, Steve had kind of enjoyed getting on his knees for him. The money in Steve’s pocket and the memory of both of those men telling him how pretty he was has Steve feeling a little proud of himself. It’s ridiculous really, but he can’t quite help it. He’s never been complimented in such a way by anyone other than Bucky. Steve’s always been the shrimp; too skinny and sickly for any dame or guy to truly appreciate. It feels nice to be considered desirable for once. And it has him feeling more than a bit horny by the time he gets back to the apartment.

It’s late when he walks in the door. Nearly one o’clock. Steve immediately knows that Bucky's home because his coat is hanging on the hook by the door, his shoes shucked off messily like always. Steve huffs and picks them up, puts them neatly against the wall. He tries hard to be quiet, taking off his own coat and shoes. For a moment he stares at the money jar, debating whether to stuff the bills in there. But he decides against it. He’ll have no way of explaining the huge amount of money to Bucky. So instead he lays the bills out flat between the pages of one of his old, used-up sketch books. Bucky won’t look there, and Steve figures he can pay their rent on the sly and figure out what to tell Bucky later. 

He goes into their bedroom. They haven’t used Bucky’s old bed in months. Now they huddle together in Steve’s bed every night. It’s cramped but neither of them care. The closeness is comforting, especially since neither of them have really put a name to whatever the hell it is they’re doing, what it is they’re becoming. Steve’s heart warms when he’s sees Bucky in the bed, after all, yet another night out dancing where he hasn’t opted to bring a dame home. Steve listens to Bucky’s soft snores with an ache in his chest.

He strips to his drawers and walks over to the bed, thinks better of it and takes his underwear off as well, then climbs in behind Bucky. His hand is on his own prick right away, playing with himself and bringing it to hardness without much effort. He’s worked up from the night’s activities, not having had the chance to get himself off while he’d been pleasuring the Johns. They hadn’t seemed concerned with Steve’s pleasure, and now Steve’s riled up and determined to make himself feel good. He reaches out and places a hand on Bucky’s hip, sidles up close behind him and breathes in the waxy scent of his hair. “Buck,” he whispers, kissing the back of his neck. He lets his erection press against Bucky’s backside. He’s wearing his drawers, but that’s no matter. Steve humps gently against him and strokes up and down his ribcage to wake him up.

It takes a moment, but eventually Bucky stirs, making a sleepy sound. “Mm, Stevie?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I’m here.”

Bucky sighs at the feeling of Steve rubbing against him. He pushes back into it. “What’re you doin’ out so late?” he mumbles. “Missed you.”

Steve smiles against his skin. “Missed you too, jerk.”

Bucky huffs a noise that would most-likely be a laugh if he weren’t so tired. “Library closes at six,” he points out. “Where’d you go?” 

“Went to do some work at an office building,” Steve lies. He’s already planned out his excuse for the money. If making up such a lie makes him feel guilty, he shoves it down and out of his thoughts. “Got a gig doing some cleaning work late at night.”

Bucky hums and Steve can tell he hasn’t detected the lie. It makes Steve breathe a sigh of relief. He lets his hand trail lower, over Bucky’s hip and just above his groin. “Hey, you wanna?” he asks, knowing that Bucky will know what he means.

Bucky hums pleasantly. “You feeling frisky doll?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He lets his hips push against Bucky a little harder. “Why don’t you flip over for me?” he asks. “Want to get on top of you.”

Bucky groans as if this is an imposition, but he does move over to lie on his back. His eyes find Steve’s, and the look he gives him is heated. “Whatd’ya want Stevie?” he asks him.

“Want to rub off on you,” Steve says. He climbs on top of him, legs bracketing Bucky's own. Steve’s a lightweight and he knows that it’s hardly a burden for him to straddle Bucky like this. He rolls his hips down against him, eliciting a lazy moan from Bucky. Steve chuckles lowly. “You like that?”

“Ugh, you know I do Steve.” Bucky’s hands find Steve’s hips, fingers gripping him harshly the way that Steve likes.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. He bends down and slots his mouth over Bucky’s, hot and needy. Bucky laughs into it and makes Steve pull away. 

“Somebody’s eager,” he teases.

“Mmph, you’ve got no idea,” Steve says. He sits back up, keeps moving his hips against the crest of Bucky’s groin. At the same time he rubs his palm over Bucky’s dick. He can feel him twitch, just starting to get hard. The feeling of it makes Steve’s pulse race faster. If only Bucky knew what he’d been up to not even an hour ago, he thinks. “Need to feel you,” he says, breathless and hurried with want. He fumbles to get his hand underneath Bucky’s boxers but is uncoordinated in his movements. It’s obvious he’s been drinking. If it occurs to Bucky that this doesn’t make sense since Steve was supposed to have been working, he doesn’t say anything about it. Steve can smell alcohol on Bucky’s own breath, so maybe that has something to do with it. 

“Steve, Ssteevie,” he says, voice full of love and lust and amusement. “Here, let me.” He wiggles under Steve, taking hold of his underwear and shucking them down his hips. Steve rises up enough to make room so that Bucky can get them down his thighs, then he’s sitting back down on top of him and grabbing his growing erection in his hand. He strokes upwards once, enjoying the groan that he gets from Bucky for it. “Oh, yeah,” he breathes, eyes shut now. “Get the stuff, will ya?” he asks.

Steve knows what he means. He leans over to open the drawer to the nightstand, grabbing the jar of Vaseline and bringing it back to coat his fingers. He wraps them back around Bucky’s erection, and this time they’re slicked and the slide on Bucky’s cock is easier. Bucky moans louder than before, his hips stuttering up with a cry. “Oh! Yeah Steve, mm.”

“Yeah?” Steve says. “That feel good?”

“God, yes,” Bucky tells him. He peeks his eyes open. “Rub off on me,” he says hotly. “Want to feel it.” Steve immediately starts moving his hips again, and this time his erection is able to slide hotly against Bucky’s own, the Vaseline slicking the way. They both groan at the same time and Steve lays himself down atop Bucky so that their cocks are trapped between their bellies. Bucky’s hands pull him tightly down, not wanting him to change positions. “That’s it,” he tells Steve. “Perfect. God, always so perfect for me Stevie.”

Steve kisses him again, sliding their lips together to vent all of the frustrated passion he feels. Bucky moans into it and lets his tongue slip out to request entrance to Steve’s mouth. Steve grants it, relishing the way that their kiss becomes something hot and dirty; a decent match to the way their hips rut together. Steve pants against Bucky, both of them silent as they work together to get off. Steve starts to get close and he tries to back off, wanting to prolong the pleasure of what they’re doing, but Bucky just grips him harder against him, telling him, “No. Wanna feel you shoot all over me,” he says. He’s got a filthy fucking mouth, can be even filthier when the occasion calls for it. Steve loves it. 

“M’close,” he warns. “Don’t want to.”

“Shh, Stevie,” Bucky hushes. He’s working his hips up harder now, making their cocks slide between them in a delicious, slippery pressure. “You’re good. So good. Just do it,” he husks. “Come on.”

Steve closes his eyes and buries his face in Bucky’s neck. He can’t hold off, not when Bucky’s being so insistent, is whispering stuff like that into his ear. “ _God_ ,” he groans, hips stuttering one, twice, before he feels the pleasure in his spine meet the tightness in his balls. He cries out, tensing as his orgasm rips through him. “Fuuck.”

Bucky grunts in encouragement, hands moving all over his back. “That’s it baby. God, yeah. So good. So pretty.”

Steve’s mind flashes back to the men who’d called him pretty earlier that night, and he has to grit his teeth to force the thought away. He’s coming, coming so hard and when it slows and he’s just lying in a little pool of his own come on Bucky’s stomach, he has to squash that little bit of guilt down again. It isn’t right for him to think of other people when he’s like this with Bucky. He pulls himself back up to sitting, ignoring Bucky’s whine and taking his still-hard cock in hand. He starts to jerk him off, using rough pulls that pop over the head the way he knows Bucky likes. Bucky groans loudly and it’s music to Steve’s ears. “Yeah,” he encourages, reaching up with his other hand to rub over Bucky’s chest. Bucky _keens_. “Your turn Buck,” he tells him. “Want to see you. Come on.”

Bucky thrusts up into what Steve is doing to him, his breath heaving and ragged the way it gets right before he comes. “Oh God, Steve.” Steve hums in encouragement, and a second later Bucky’s cock is twitching in his hand, pulsing as he shoots his load onto his stomach. It hits Steve’s own come, and the sight is filthy and beautiful. Steve sighs in satisfaction and works him through it, gradually loosening his grip and then laying Bucky’s cock onto his stomach with a gentle press. Bucky hisses, overstimulated. “Baby,” he husks. “Babydoll, Stevie.” His eyes are closed but he manages to pull Steve down against him. Steve goes, heedless of the sticky mess between them. They’ve been this way before. Later, maybe in the morning, he knows that Bucky will tenderly wipe them off. It’s one of the most intimate things they do together and Steve loves it.

“So good, Buck,” he tells him, voice muffled against Bucky’s skin. He feels a wave of exhaustion come over him then, completely spent. “Gonna fall asleep on you,” he mumbles, half apology and half just informing him. Bucky mumbles something unintelligible in agreement.

Steve falls asleep before he even gets the chance to move off of Bucky.


	4. James

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's the use of the word 'negro' in this chapter. Is it racist if it's only being used in historical context?

A week passes before Steve knows it. 

On Wednesday, he goes to the bank and opens his own account. Steve’s never had enough money to find it worthwhile, but this way he figures he can build up his savings and take out what he needs to help with his and Bucky’s expenses. Not enough to cause real suspicion. He’ll save most of it, then one day (he doesn’t know what day that’ll be or what the hell he’ll say when it comes around, but _one day_ ) he’ll find a way to give Bucky more, to really get their lives on track. Maybe buy a two bedroom apartment in a better part of town. 

On Friday, when Bucky’s still at work, Steve drops a bag of his nice clothes off with Henry, asking him to keep them tucked away for him. Henry doesn’t ask why Steve would rather change at the hotel, and Steve is grateful for that. 

Saturday evening, Steve pecks Bucky on the cheek before heading out. Bucky doesn’t ask any questions about where he’s going or why. He’s bought into the lie about Steve’s new job and Steve pushes down the guilt he feels about that, tries to just be grateful that Bucky isn’t suspicious. 

Henry greets him with a wave and a nod and Steve changes. He settles himself into one of the lobby’s comfy armchairs. Tonight there’s a negro man singing low tunes while his companion plays the piano, and Steve enjoys the music. When the waiter stops by and asks him if he’d like a drink, he orders a simple glass of wine. It’s amazing, Steve thinks as he sips at it and lets the music lull him into a good mood. He’s much less nervous about tonight. 

“Got you a guy upstairs.”

Steve tips his head up to see Henry standing there with a smile. He’s spoken quietly. “Oh?” Steve asks.

“Yeah. Room 262. He’s a real looker.”

Steve raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. “Kay,” he murmurs. He tips the last of his wine back in a hurried gulp (it’s the only thing he’s drunk this evening) and stands up. Maybe it’s obvious to Henry that he’s less of a nervous wreck this time, because the man just gives him a nod and heads back to his post at the front desk. Steve sets his glass down and heads off for the elevators. 

-

The door to room 262 opens, and Steve is greeted by what is probably the most handsome man he’s seen outside of a picture. He’s tall, with dark hair and almond eyes and features like… well, like a movie star. Steve’s instant thought is _why the hell is this man paying for sex?_ “Oh,” he fumbles, not able to look away. “Um… Sorry for starin’ I just…”

The man grins and steps aside so that Steve can enter the room. The door snicks quietly shut behind them. “Hey,” he says. His voice is a rich timbre—pleasant. “Thanks for coming up. I saw you down in the lobby. Henry pointed you out."

“He did?”

The guy smiles and goes to sit on the edge of the room’s bed. He seems relaxed and happy, not nervous like Frank had been. “Yeah,” he says. “He said you were a looker, real pretty.” His eyes peruse Steve, up and down. “He wasn’t wrong.”

Steve blushes. So far, the sorts of men who look for company at the St. George seem to like giving him compliments, calling him pretty and things like that, and it’s still not something he’s used to. “Ah, thanks,” he mumbles.

The man chuckles. “Sure thing.” He holds out his hand in a gesture for Steve to come nearer, and Steve does. He steps into the V of the man’s legs and tries to stay relaxed as he pulls him in with both hands at his lower back. It’s a gentle motion, after all, and this man is looking fondly at Steve, not like he’s a piece of meat to be eaten. “He also said you’re new,” he murmurs. He’s got hazel eyes, and they rove over him assessingly. “Like a shiny penny.” Steve huffs in embarrassment and the man smiles and pets at his back. “Naw, don’t be embarrassed. I’ve got a thing for Henry’s new boys.” He smiles up at Steve. “I’m James. What’s your name gorgeous?”

Steve swallows, heart thumping harder at hearing that this man shares Bucky’s given name. “Uh…” Truthfully, he’d plan to lie from here on out and call himself something like Thomas, or Larry. But ‘Steve’ is non-descript too and he finds himself wanting to hear his real name from this man’s lips. “Steve,” he says quietly. “I’m Steve.”

James hums and lets his hands fall to Steve’s hips. “Well, Steve. I’d really like to lay you down on this bed. Can I do that?”

Steve’s pulse quickens. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah sure I—” his words cut off when James pulls him forward and moves him with hardly any effort. Before he knows it, Steve is laying flat on his back and is staring right up at the other man. “Oh,” he breathes, then chuckles. “Okay then.”

James smiles. He leans down and hovers just above him, lips barely an inch away, before he lowers and kisses him. It’s gentle and short, and he’s pulling away before Steve can decide if he likes it or not. James stares down at him. “How many people you been with honey?”

Steve bites his lip. “Um, just two,” he admits. He’s thinking of customers, so he doesn’t count Bucky in that number. “I really am new to this,” he admits quietly.

“Hey, that’s okay.” James reaches up and pulls one of Steve’s suspenders down, then the other. “I told ya I like that.”

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhm.” He bends down and starts placing coaxing kisses along Steve’s jaw and neck as his fingers find the buttons of his shirt and undo them, one by one. Steve realizes that James is wearing some sort of cologne; something expensive and spicy. It smells good. He gets Steve’s shirt off and sits up to take off his own. His shoulders and chest are strong, and Steve feels a rush of attraction at the sight of him. Henry really wasn’t lying—this man _is_ a looker. “I want to ask you something okay?” James says. “Don’t be shy.”

Steve exhales shakily. “Okay.”

“You ever done it with a guy?”

“…What?” 

“Sex. You gone all the way yet?”

Steve frowns. What does that even mean? He’s not exactly sure why the heck James would be asking him this, is pretty sure that anybody who’d know to ask Henry to have a guy sent up to their room should sort of _know_ what it is they’re asking for. “Um, what exactly—”

James has shucked off his pants. He lays himself out atop Steve again, this time kissing him hard, for real. His interest is evident through his shorts. When he pulls back he says, “You been fucked?”

Steve feels like he must blush all the way to his toes, and that in itself is embarrassing because he’s supposed to be a _professional_. He certainly doesn’t feel like one, what with James hovering over him. James seems to be far more confident and he’s definitely more experienced than Steve is. “No,” Steve winds up mumbling. “Nobody’s asked for that. …Yet,” he tacks on.

James nods. One of his hands comes up and traces along the side of Steve’s face. “And what if that’s what I wanted to ask for? Would you let me?”

“Let you… fuck me?” The words feel foreign in Steve’s mouth.

“Yeah.” James affords him a tender look. “Is that okay?”

Steve swallows. He honestly hadn’t been expecting to be asked these sorts of questions, to be given this sort of consideration. It’s endearing to say the least. He’d been expecting rude men to issue their demands, not ask him what he’s okay with. The fact that this man is asking him has Steve feeling much more at ease. “I… I guess so,” he nearly whispers. “I mean, you’re paying.”

James chuckles. “Okay. Let’s get undressed, huh?” He helps Steve off with his pants, and when his fingers are at the waistband of Steve’s underwear Steve realizes that this will be the first time he’s ever been naked in front of anyone other than Bucky. Suddenly, Steve feels a wave of self-consciousness come over him, worrying that James won’t like his thin, boney frame. “Shh,” James says, peeling down his boxers. He must be aware of Steve’s discomfort because he tells him, “I told ya I think you’re pretty.” He runs a hand over Steve’s thigh, just ghosting near his cock before smoothing up over his belly. “Real delicate-like, aren’t ya?”

Steve blushes fiercely. “Hey I dunno…” Before he can say anything else James is upon him again, this time kissing him with passion. When he pulls back he tells him,

“Steve, you’re gorgeous. I want you to take the compliment.” Steve doesn’t know what the hell to say to that, so he just seals his lips shut and nods. James seems appeased. He gets his own underwear off so that they’re both naked, and his body is firm and warm where he presses it down against Steve. He sighs and runs his hands through Steve’s hair, eyes still kind. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m gonna treat you right Steve. Gonna make you feel good.”

Steve swallows. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm.” James bends down and sucks kisses into the skin of Steve’s neck, and Steve can’t help the sigh that leaves him. It surprises him, how nice it feels. Almost without thinking about it, he parts his legs, allowing James to come to rest between them. Against his belly, he can feel the other man’s prick hardening. “Here,” James murmurs against his skin, and the next thing Steve knows there’s a hand around his cock. 

He gasps, “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah,” James murmurs, fingers jacking him lightly. “Feel good?” 

“Oh, yes.” Steve’s eyes slip closed and he bites his lip. He feels like he should probably be doing something for James too, something to make him feel good, but the practiced stroke of the other man’s hand over his cock is too distracting. Steve lets himself enjoy it. “Oh that’s good.”

James chuckles. He keeps stroking him, grip getting firmer as Steve hardens fully. When Steve starts thrusting up minutely into his fist, he lets go. Steve whines but James just shushes him with a kiss. “You got anything to ease the way, babydoll?”

Steve blinks his eyes open, lust clouding his thoughts. “Huh?”

“Slick. You got any?”

Steve frowns, then inhales as he remembers. “Oh! Yeah I… here.” He wiggles sideways, grabbing his pants and fishing the Vaseline from the pocket. After a brief second, he grabs one of the condoms too. “Here,” he says, grateful when James takes them with an air of confidence. Steve bites his lip in uncertainty. “You uh, you know what to do?”

James’ eyes flick up to his, something like fondness in them. “Don’t worry babydoll, I’ll show ya.”

Steve feels something like annoyance run through him at the nickname, but also something like pleasure. On the one hand, being called names like ‘honey’ and ‘babydoll’ make him feel like a dame, which is embarrassing, but on the other hand, it makes him feel special—desired. It’s hard to decide which he feels more.

James gathers some of the Vaseline onto his fingers. Steve watches with a sense of wonder as he brings his hand down between Steve’s legs, past his balls and— _oh!_ Steve’s eyes widen. He’d known this was what would happen, but still, he’s taken aback when he shudders at the feeling of James’ slick fingers circling gently at his entrance, doing nothing more than rubbing and teasing for long moments. It feels _good_ , and against his belly, Steve’s prick jerks in interest.

“I know,” James murmurs, as if he can read Steve’s thoughts. “It’s different, huh?”

Steve nods. “S’good.”

James smiles, then his fingers apply pressure and one of them slips in. He catches Steve’s exhale in his mouth, kissing and nipping at his lower lip. “There you go,” he says when he’s pulled back and moved to place kisses against Steve’s neck. “Takin’ it like a pro, aren’t ya?”

Steve can’t help it, he laughs. He can feel James’ resultant chuckle on his skin. Inside his body, the finger crooks. “Oh!” Steve gasps. Pleasure zings through his body, making his hips arch up and rub against James’ body. James is humming against him as if he knows exactly what he’s done. “What—” Steve licks his lips. “What was that?”

“Feels good?”

Steve huffs. “Yes.” Bucky’s fingered him a little before, but he’s never touched him like _that_. Steve wants to learn how James touched him just now so that the next time he’s with Bucky, he can tell him exactly what to do. Maybe Steve can even do it to Bucky. That thought has him grinding his hips up against James, feeling their erections as they rub together. “Can you, again?” Steve asks him, voice barely more than a whisper between them.

James moves his finger in the same way, and once again it passes over that spot, making Steve squeeze his eyes shut and whimper. “Oh, that’s just… swell.”

James presses in with another finger. At first Steve is scared, but James goes slow and Steve finds that it doesn’t hurt. It’s full and firm, but it doesn’t hurt. James fucks him with his fingers, moving them shallowly and letting Steve get used to the feeling. Steve keeps his eyes shut and grips at James’ shoulders, trying to concentrate on loosening up. It feels strange but it also feels good, and Steve knows that if he relaxes it’ll help. He knows James is going to put his whole cock up there and it’s big. Much bigger than just this. “Hey,” James says, and his breath hitting Steve’s lips lets him know that he’s staring down at him. Steve open his eyes.

“Hey.”

“Still good?” James is moving his hips a little now, rubbing his cock against the indent of Steve’s hip. “You like that?”

Steve bites his lip and nods. “Uh huh.” He feels embarrassed at admitting it, can feel his cheeks heating up. But he forces it away, instead bringing his knees up so that he can better cradle James’ body between his legs. He lets his hands roam over the warm skin of his back. He’s broad and strong, and he feels good underneath Steve’s hands. “You ever done this?” Steve asks, curious. “I mean, had it done to you?”

For a second, Steve’s worried he shouldn’t have asked the question, is afraid James will get mad or insulted. But he doesn’t. He just nods and looks at Steve with kind eyes, then leans down and kisses him again. “Yeah,” he tells him. “Been under a man a time or two. It’s called being the bottom.”

Steve blushes harder. “I see.” James knows words for this stuff. Steve figures this means the guy is most definitely queer. And not like Frank had been—maybe queer all the time, like the guys who live in Steve’s part of town. “You really know what you’re doing then?”

James shushes him. “I told you: I’m gonna make it real good for you doll. All you gotta do is relax. You think you can do that for me?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“Kay.” James pumps his fingers a few more times, makes sure to drag them over that spot inside Steve’s body until he gets another whimper for it. He smirks when he does. “Yeah,” he says, removing his fingers and taking more Vaseline from the jar. He wraps his hand around Steve’s prick. “Gonna make you feel real good.”

Steve grunts as James moves his fist, jerking him off for a long moment until Steve’s erection has hardened all the way again. Steve watches as James sits back on his haunches, does the same to himself, and then reaches for the condom and tears it open. He slips it over himself, and gets even more Vaseline on his fingers, touching himself again as he lowers back down over Steve. “Fingers first,” he tells Steve. “To get ya loosened up. And always use enough slick.”

Steve swallows and nods. He feels James position his cock at his entrance and all of a sudden he’s scared again. His fingers dig into James’ shoulders harder. “Shh,” James says, and pushes a little, just a little. Steve feels pressure, and then James is inside him—not all the way, but some. And it’s sudden and easy, making Steve’s eyes go a little wide.

“Oh!” he exclaims.

“See? Ain’t nothin’ to it.” James kisses him. “You okay?”

Steve nods, huffing in surprise. “Yeah. Yeah I’m…” James pushes in more, and Steve feels the length of him, can _feel_ him sinking deeper into his body. It makes the breath shudder out of him. “Oh,” he sighs, and cants his hips up a little more, silently requesting for James to move. James seems to get it, because he pulls back, then sinks into him again. Steve cries out and follows him.

It comes more naturally than Steve had thought it would, having sex with another man. It’s foreign, but James is careful in the way that he fucks him and he spends the entire time paying attention to Steve, kissing him and gentling his hands down his sides. He touches him too, jerking him off in his hand while he thrusts and making Steve forget about how exposed he is in favor of crying out in pleasure. James seems to take great satisfaction when this happens, and he doubles down on his efforts, rolling his hips faster, harder. Steve loves it. 

When James gets close, he sits back and hooks his arms under Steve’s knees to pull him towards him, nearly into his lap with each thrust. And he tells Steve to touch himself, eyes hot and intent as he watches him. “Come on,” he husks, not looking away. “I want you to come first. You think you can do that babydoll?”

Steve whines—partly at being called that again but also because, yes, he thinks he can come. He’s close, can feel his body tingling and his muscles tightening. Between James’ cock in his ass and Steve’s hand around himself, he can feel himself being pulled closer and closer to the edge. And he’s definitely going to come.

His breath catches when it happens, hips stuttering up and come shooting out onto his belly. James’ eyes light up and he praises him immediately. “Good. Aw, Steve, you’re so good for me.” Steve can only grunt, eyes closing and head thumping back onto the pillow. James seems to take this as his cue to find his own release. He lets go of Steve’s legs and bends over him again, blanketing him with his body and gripping his hips harshly as he fucks him with purpose. “Fuck, baby. I’m gonna come. Gonna— _ah!_ ” His hips stutter in a few, last uncoordinated thrusts, and Steve feels him panting against the skin of his neck. He sighs. That wasn’t so bad after all.

-

“You feel okay?” James asks him a while later, once they’ve both cleaned up and are just lounging on the bed together. Steve has made sure to check the time since James went into the bathroom to grab a washcloth. They’ve still got thirty minutes. 

“Yeah,” Steve tells him. He’s laying up against James’ side and he’s comfortable like that; likes the feel of the man’s warm skin against his. He’s been considering James heavily ever since he came back to the bed and tenderly wiped Steve’s stomach and asshole with the warm washcloth. It’d made Steve blush harder than just about anything else. “You’re really nice,” Steve tells him, closing his eyes when he says it so that he doesn’t feel quite as vulnerable in admitting that. “Never thought it’d be so good.” He hadn’t expected to come and is shocked that he had, that it’d barely even been uncomfortable having a guy’s cock up his ass. James isn’t small like Frank had been. He’s more Steve and Bucky’s size. “Thank you,” Steve adds after a long moment of silence between them. To his side, he feels how James shifts and then strokes his hair. 

“You’re welcome babydoll. You just always remember how this was, okay? You make it good and look out for yourself.”

Steve doesn’t tell James about Bucky, but he lays there and plans how he’s going to tell Bucky that he wants to have sex. Because after this, he definitely does.


	5. Catherine (and Tom)

Steve’s earned so much money the past two weeks, that he puts three quarters of it in the bank, keeps one quarter at home, and decides not to go to the St. George that next weekend. Instead, he and Bucky go out dancing. Bucky picks up Daphne Marsh from the next block over, and she brings her little sister along. For once, Steve and Bucky _both_ wind up having someone to dance with. Judy Marsh doesn’t even seem to mind being paired up with Steve. She’s cute; short and small, curly brown hair and pink colored lips. She’s a good dancer, and even though Steve has to lead, she finds a way to direct them into a proper rhythm anyway. Steve appreciates that. He wouldn’t mind taking Judy out all the time, just to have a dame on his arm and somebody to dance with. 

He and Bucky dance side by side with their girls, hands occasionally slipping farther than they should, and both girls putting them back where they belong. Bucky makes a little more headway than Steve, disappearing from the dance floor sometime around eleven, but he and Daphne return after not too long, and Bucky resumes dancing with her, throwing dirty smirks at Steve all the while. 

They walk the girls home at an hour that the two of them find decent, but which the Marsh girls’ parents definitely won’t, and then they slip into the dive just down from their apartment and have another two rounds before heading home themselves. Inside, Bucky is the one to slam the door shut, then he locks it and is turning around to grin at Steve. “God, I am so horny,” he says.

Steve laughs. They’re both drunk, but from the shine in Bucky’s eyes he thinks that Bucky’s probably a little farther gone. “That so?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Bucky comes up to Steve, pushes his jacket off his shoulders and takes him into his arms. He starts placing kisses to Steve’s neck. “You all worked up, babydoll?”

Steve blushes, partly because Bucky hardly ever calls him names like that, and partly because it reminds him of the johns from the hotel. “Yeah,” he murmurs, letting his hands rove to Bucky’s back and feel all of the muscles through his shirt. “Let’s go fool around,” he suggests. Bucky hums lowly in agreement. In their bedroom, Steve starts taking off his clothes while Bucky stays right at his back and paws at him, impeding his progress. “ _Bucky_ ,” Steve complains, laughing. “Get off. Get naked.”

“Sir, yessir,” Bucky says. 

Before long, they’ve both undressed and have tumbled into Bucky’s bed. Steve kisses Bucky, lets him roll him over until Bucky’s on top, between his legs. “Mm, yeah,” Steve sighs, loving the feeling of Bucky’s warm body pressing him into the mattress. He rolls his hips up, cock hardening from the contact with Bucky’s stomach. “Want you,” he says, inhaling the waxy scent of Bucky’s pomade as he necks at him. “Couldn’t stop watching you all night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve sighs and closes his eyes. What Bucky’s doing with his mouth feels nice, his hips rubbing down against him even nicer. “You looked so good with that girl. Holding her and kissing her, moving her around.”

“She was good,” Bucky murmurs, “real sweet.” He puts his lips to Steve’s ear. “You want to know what we did when we stepped out?”

Steve groans. Partly because he thinks he already has a good idea, and partly because he wants to hear Bucky say it. “Yes,” he breathes, fingers running up and down Bucky’s back as they slowly frott together. “Tell me.”

“Mm. Took her into the back hallway to make out. It was dark, and soon as we were back there she was grabbin’ all over me.” Bucky chuckles. “I had to push her away for a second just to get her up against the wall.”

“Fuck,” Steve murmurs. “What then?” Their hips have not stopped moving.

“I kissed her, felt her up through her blouse. God, Steve, I can’t even tell ya. She had amazing tits. Felt so good in my hands.”

“God,” Steve breathes. He reaches over to their nightstand and grabs the jar of Vaseline, pops it open and gets some on his fingers. Then he reaches down and grabs their cocks together, making Bucky grunt.

“Oh, fuck Stevie, yeah. Like that.” Bucky licks his lips in the dark, leaning down to kiss Steve’s shoulder and speak into his skin. “Got my hand up her skirt. Didn’t think she’d let me at first—you know those Marsh girls.”

Steve nods silently. There are five of them and they all have pristine reputations. 

“But she did, Stevie, she did. I got my hand under her skirt and I rubbed over her, and you know what? She was all soaked through her panties.”

Steve groans. “Fuck, Buck.”

“Mm, that wasn’t even the best part,” Bucky tells him darkly. By now, his story-telling is a bit stilted, as his breathing has increased from Steve’s attentions. “ _Ah_. Jesus that feels good. She made this sweet sound, like a kitten or somethin’, and I pushed her panties aside, slipped two fingers right in her cunt. God, Stevie, she was so damn wet. I wanted to fuck her so much. Betcha it would’ve been heaven.”

“Oh, Bucky.”

“She was making the sweetest sounds. Whimpering and moaning. And she was all about it, ya know? Was fucking my hand like no tomorrow. I was kissing her the whole time, could feel right when she came. Creamed all over my hand.”

Steve can’t take it anymore. He curses and removes his hand from around their cocks, reaches up to take Bucky’s face between his hands and kisses him fiercely. He sticks his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, desperate for him. Bucky grunts into it and gets his forearms close to Steve’s head, his hips thrusting down and hands running through Steve’s hair. When Steve pulls back from the kiss, breathless, he tells him, “Want you to put it in me.”

Bucky blinks down at him for a second, eyes lust-slicked and breath tinted with the smell of booze. “Hm?” he asks, not quite getting it. “Whadda you want Stevie?” he asks, smiling and dipping to kiss all over Steve’s neck again. “Want me to make you come?”

Steve makes a sound of approval. “Yeah. Want you to fuck me.”

Bucky pulls back. He looks more cognizant, like he’s paying more attention now. “Fuck you?” he asks, question in his voice. “You mean like—”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “In me. Like, _there_.” He rolls his hips up, getting Bucky’s cock to rub further back along his taint and balls. “You wanna?” he asks.

Bucky’s expressionless for a long second, but then his mouth is splitting in a grin. “Hell yeah,” he breathes. “Fuck, Steve. I didn’t know that was something… I mean, I didn’t even know you knew.” He comes down and kisses him once more, pulls back. “You want that?”

Steve nods, smiling back at him now. He’s so, so relieved that Bucky wants this, that he hasn’t pushed him away for suggesting it. Fooling around in bed is one thing. Gay, maybe. Gay like, _Frank_ gay. But fucking? Asking for Bucky to put his cock in his ass? That’s queer, like _James_ queer. If they do this, he thinks, it’ll mean something. 

“Okay,” Bucky says down at him. He’s looking at Steve differently now; like he’s something amazing and precious. He smiles at him again. “You should turn over,” he says. “Lemme get you ready.”

Steve sighs at that. “Yeah.” He pushes at Bucky’s chest, and when he has room to move, flips over onto his stomach. “Can’t believe we’re doing this,” he says. Behind, Bucky makes a sound of agreement. “You gonna use your fingers?” Steve asks, thinking of how James had opened him up before fucking him.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. Steve frowns lightly, because Bucky’s voice is farther down the bed than it should be. “Gonna do this, first,” Bucky says. Then Steve feels Bucky’s hands grip his cheeks and part them, and _then_ Steve feels hot wetness against his hole. It only takes him a millisecond to figure out what that feeling is, and when he does, his eyes shoot open wide.

“Bucky!” he startles, wiggling away in alarm. Bucky’s hands grab his thighs and don’t let him pull away, however. “What the heck are you—” his words die out, replaced by a gasp as Bucky’s tongue touches him again, this time licking over his hole more firmly—one, two, three times, before he answers,

“I’m eating you out.”

Steve huffs. “That’s what you do to girls,” he says. He knows this from Bucky, not personal experience.

Bucky hums darkly. “Yeah, and now I’m doing it to you. Guess that makes you my girl.”

Steve makes a noise of indignation, but before he can formulate any further response, Bucky’s back to licking him. Steve’s breath chokes out and he flops his face into the pillow and pushes his hips back. “Fuuuck,” he groans. Bucky hums against his skin, tongue licking and licking and then, his mouth downright _sucking_ over Steve’s hole. Steve groans out a curse that his mother would roll over in her grave if she heard, and he rubs his face into his forearm. “Oh my god Bucky,” he whimpers. “Where’d you learn this?”

Back _there_ , Bucky snickers. “I hear things at the docks, ya know? They don’t call it ‘swearing like a sailor’ for nothing. Hear all sorts of stories down there.”

Steve grunts. “Those guys are queer?” he asks, but Bucky says,

“Naw. They do it to their girls.”

“What?!” Steve says, shocked. Bucky just laughs.

“Yeah. They say it gets ‘em real wet. Say sometimes they even do this, too.” Bucky rubs a finger over Steve’s hole, then pushes it in slightly. 

Steve gasps. “ _Oh_ , they—ah!—they do?”

“Mmhm.” Bucky thrusts his finger a little. “They fuck ‘em too. Just like this.”

“What?” Steve astounds. “You mean like—”

“Yup. Just like I’m gonna,” Bucky says. He sounds inordinately pleased. He kisses Steve where his tailbone is, then moves around on the bed. Steve sees his hands grab the jar of Vaseline, and a second later he feels Bucky’s finger return, only this time it’s greasy with slick. It pushes in, and he moves it shallowly. “God Steve,” Bucky says, and he sounds in awe. “You’re so pretty like this. Love watching your asshole clench on me.”

Steve moans in embarrassment and arousal at that. “ _Bucky_ ,” he whines.

“Shh,” Bucky soothes. “Gonna give it to you good, Sugar.” He keeps touching him, keeps pumping that one finger, before Steve starts to wiggle in impatience and he adds another. Steve sighs at the stretch. “That feel okay?” Bucky asks, still moving his fingers in and out of Steve’s body.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Can you, can you bend ‘em? Like, curl them. Inside.”

Bucky does. “Like this?” he asks.

Steve moans before he can answer the question, as Bucky’s small thrusts now drag over that spot inside of himself; the spot that James had helped him to discover during their time together. “Oh,” he says, voice pitching with pleasure. “Yeah, yeah. Just like that. S’perfect.”

Bucky chuckles, but it’s dark; aroused. He continues fucking Steve with just the two fingers for a long time, and then he asks quietly, “You want me to use three?”

Steve bites his lip, thinking about it. Bucky’s cock is a little bigger than James’ had been. He nods into the pillow. Bucky must be able to see it, because he removes his hand and gathers more slick. When he returns, he presses three fingers into Steve. Steve gasps at the feeling of it. “Oh!”

“Steve?” Bucky asks, voice cautious. “You okay?”

Steve grunts, focusing on keeping his breath steady. “Yeah, it’s just a lot. Have to get used to it.”

“…Okay.” Bucky pushes his fingers a little farther into Steve, but it’s gentle; slow. He pulses them shallowly into him, curling them just like Steve had instructed him to. After a minute, they find that spot again, and Steve tenses and whimpers. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Right there right there.”

Bucky pauses. He uses his free hand to pet over Steve’s back. “What is it?” he asks curiously.

Steve pants and tells him, “There’s a spot. When you touch it, it feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, sounding excited. He moves his fingers again, slowly drawing them along Steve’s inner wall. When he hits it again and Steve cries out again, Bucky chuckles. “Okay,” he murmurs, sounding pleased. “I see. Right here, right?” He rubs more firmly on the spot. Steve practically shouts. 

“Yes! Yes. Right there. Oh, _god_ , Bucky.”

Bucky cackles, loving it. “Jeeze Stevie. You really like that, huh?” He moves his fingers again. Steve moans again. Bucky asks, “Is this just you, or does every guy…” he trails off.

“Ugh,” Steve is trying hard not to hump back onto Bucky’s fingers. “I think it’s every guy,” he says. 

Bucky seems to take that in. “Hm,” he says. “Wonder if it’d feel good, if you did it to me.”

Steve groans a little a hearing that. “Fuck, Bucky,” he says. “You’d want me to?” Steve can tell that Bucky’s grinning just from the sound of his voice when he next says,

“You know me: I’m a regular old pervert. Always ready to try something new if it means I can come.”

Steve snorts. It ends in a moan, however, when Bucky’s hand picks up its pace, fucking him harder. Steve feels his cock jerk from the pleasure. He looses a blasphemous curse. “Bucky,” he says. “That’s enough. Want you, now.”

He doesn’t have to tell him twice. Bucky’s hand is gone in a second, and the next thing Steve knows, he can feel Bucky’s cockhead against his asshole. He inhales sharply. “Oh,” he breathes. “Oh, please be careful,” he says. Bucky’s been with tons of girls; Steve doesn’t want him to think he can just go shoving in there like he does with the dames.

But Bucky surprises him. He penetrates Steve just the smallest bit, and then he’s holding completely still, hands holding Steve at the hips and thumbs stroking over the skin there. “Steve,” he says, sounding in wonder. “Oh, I’m _inside_ you.”

Steve bites his lip as the realization hits him too. Bucky is _fucking_ him. Or, at least he will be soon. Carefully, Steve wiggles, trying to get used to the intrusion of Bucky’s cock inside his body like this. It happens gradually, but soon enough he’s relaxed and the feeling loses some of the burn, instead becoming more pleasurable. Steve rubs his forehead against his arm, feeling overwhelmed. “Okay,” he says quietly, pushing back further on Bucky’s cock. There is no pain. “You can move. You can fuck me.”

Bucky makes a debased sort of noise at that, his fingers gripping harder at Steve’s hips, and then he’s pushing, sinking himself in, and in, until his whole cock is inside Steve and his hips are resting against his ass. “Oooh,” he says, voice about as low as it can get. “Fuck, Steve. You feel so good.”

“Yeah?” Steve loves hearing Bucky say that. It makes the pleasure in his core tighten a little. 

“Yeah.” Bucky pulls out a little, then thrusts back in. Steve keens. 

“Oh! You… that’s it, Bucky. You hit it already. Just like that.”

Bucky thrusts again. “Like that?” he asks, voice dirty and coaxing. “Right there?”

“Yes,” Steve hisses, eyes squeezing shut from the feeling of it. “Shit,” he whimpers, as Bucky continues to move and keeps on rubbing over that good spot. Even James hadn’t been able to do that, he thinks. “Feels good Buck,” he tells him, pushing back into the roll of Bucky’s hips. “God, I think I could come just like this.”

Bucky moans. “Seriously?”

“I dunno,” Steve pants, hips still working. “Maybe.” He glances underneath himself to see his dick. It’s hard and leaking already, even though he’s not touching himself. “I think,” he says.

Bucky makes a sound that clearly says he thinks that idea is hot. “Fuck, Steve. Try? I want to see it.”

Steve huffs. He keeps pushing back into Bucky’s thrusts, angling his hips the tiniest bit to get his cock rubbing even more intensely over that spot. When it does, he cries out louder than he means to. “Oh, fuck,” he whimpers. He can definitely come like this, he thinks. If he just focuses on the sensations for another few minutes, he _can_ , he knows he can. “M’close,” he murmurs to Bucky, when he fucks him for several more moments and Steve feels himself creeping to the edge. “Oh, close, close,” he whines, and then he feels Bucky reach up and scrape the nails of both hands down his back, hard enough that he’s probably leaving pink lines. Steve shouts. He comes.

After, when Bucky’s come is inside him and Steve can feel it dribbling out of his body and is trying to ignore the feeling, they lay side by side on their backs, hands clasped between them. Steve is staring straight up at the ceiling and he knows without looking that Bucky is too. “Goddamn,” Bucky says. He sounds tired; tired and satisfied. “That was…”

“Uh-huh,” Steve agrees. Bucky turns his head. Steve senses it and he looks over too. Bucky’s looking at him with something akin to fondness. Or, well… something akin to it. “What?” Steve asks, blushing because he feels overly-scrutinized and he doesn’t know what to call the look that Bucky’s giving him. He closes his eyes to escape it.

“Just you,” Bucky says, smiling lazily. “You’re something else, you know that Rogers?”

Steve hums, eyes still closed. “Guess so.”

Bucky turns over onto his side and pulls his hand from Steve’s, reaches up and uses that hand to cup his jaw and stroke it. “I’m glad you said something, you know?” Steve just shrugs, not knowing what to say. Bucky, however, fills the silence for him. He swallows, pauses, and then he says, “I think I'm in love with you.”

Steve’s eyes _do_ fly open at that.

.oOo.

The first of the month comes around. Steve goes down to their landlord several days before rent is due and pays the sixty five dollars, cash in hand. He leaves his landlord standing there in his apartment doorway, looking stunned.

Three days later, Bucky barges into the apartment and stalks over to where Steve is splayed out on the couch reading a dime novel. “What the heck Steve?” he asks, sounding baffled.

Steve looks up. “What?”

Bucky gestures with his cap in hand to their front door. “I just went down to Mr. Iverson’s.”

Steve stills. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” He tips his head in confusion at Steve. “He said you paid us up for the month. All of it.”

Steve shrugs, tries to look like this is no big deal. “Yeah,” he says, smiling faintly. “Yeah I’ve been making such good money in tips and what not, I thought I’d surprise you.” He tries to grin wider without wincing. “Surprise.”

Bucky’s brow stays creased, but the crease lessens, at least. He shakes his head. “Well okay. But how the heck much money do you actually make at that job?” he asks. “I mean it’s cleaning offices you said, right?”

Steve hums non-commitally, pretending to read his book again. “Yeah. I guess cause it’s nights and weekends too, ya know?” He’s been spending the weekdays out around the city, sketching his fingers sore, so that Bucky will think he has a full-time job. “Most people don’t exactly wanna work those hours,” he says. 

Bucky twists his lips, unconvinced. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.” He doesn’t press the issue any further, and instead slips his shoes off and heads over to the stove to peek into the stew pot to see what Steve’s thrown together for dinner.

Steve breathes a huge sigh of relief

.oOo.

The next weekend that Steve spends in the lobby of the St. George, things are busy. Henry is calling him over to the room behind the front desk before it’s even eight o’clock. Steve raises an eyebrow at him when he gets there. “Already?” he asks. 

Henry nods. “Yeah. There’s some big show opening this week on Broadway. All the fags are in town.” Steve raises his eyebrow again, this time higher. He isn’t sure if Henry meant that last to be a slur or not. The man has never mentioned what his preferences are… “Here.”

Steve shakes himself out of that train of thought, looks down at the card that Henry’s handing him. It’s got two room numbers on it. “What’s this?” Steve asks.

“Gotcha two customers,” Henry says. He tips his head to the side, reconsiders his words, then amends, “Well… three.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Three?!”

“Oh calm down,” Henry says, shaking his head at him. “Ain’t nothing to be alarmed about. The first guy I know. He’s a regular. Just you wait—he’s a talker. S’far as my other boys tell me, that’s mainly what he does.” Henry shrugs as if this is of no consequence, then says, “The other two are a couple.”

Steve’s lips part. “You mean like, two men?”

Henry grins at him. “Nope. A fella and his wife.” He sees how Steve gapes, and snickers at the reaction. “They’re something else these two. Real fun. They’ll treat you right.”

Steve feels like he has to swallow down the feeling in his throat before he can ask, “They want _me_?” _What for?_ He wonders, but doesn’t say out loud. “What could a married couple possibly—”

“Oh, plenty of things.” Henry leers. “Like I said; they’re something else. Real creative type.”

Steve gulps, not sure how to feel about that. He decides to feel nervous. “Well how much should I… I mean how much do I charge for, um, for…”

“For a threesome?” Henry asks, putting a name to the thing that Steve hadn’t even known there was a name _for_. “Time and a half,” he says. Fifteen bucks.” He grins wickedly at Steve. “And these two? Whoo boy, do they ever tip. You get to keep that for yourself, by the way.”

“Um,”

Henry slaps a hand on Steve’s shoulder, smiling and telling him, “Don’t worry. You’ll have fun. I swear to god I’ve never had so many guests just flat out ask for one of my boys.” He winks at him. “You’re a peach, that’s what they say!” 

Steve winces through a smile, then turns to leave and head for the elevators. He goes to the first room number that Henry had scribbled on the card. 314. The door opens after a beat, and Steve is greeted by the face of the man who apparently likes to talk a lot. 

.oOo.

“—And _then_ she starts getting on _my_ case about it, like it’s my fault!” The man, who’s name is supposedly Max, looks at Steve in exasperation. “I mean can you believe that?” He huffs. “Like I have any say so in whether our daughter gets into some damned fancy ballerina school.”

Steve nods his head as if agreeing wholeheartedly with Max’s struggle, but honestly, after nearly forty minutes of this kind of talk (Max doesn’t like his wife very much), his wry smile is beginning to feel forced. Steve had given him a blow job straight off, but that had been over fairly quickly. Steve isn’t so sure he wouldn’t prefer it over the listening, at this point. “Unbelievable,” he tells Max, taking a second to let his eyes flick over to the room’s clock. _Oh, thank god_ , he thinks. An hour is sooo long. Steve stretches and leans over to place a small peck on Max’s cheek, smiling apologetically at him as he pulls back and climbs off the bed.

“Aw, honey,” Max complains. “You gotta go so soon?”

Steve makes a face like he’s just as upset about this as Max is. “I know, it stinks. But I really enjoyed our time together.” He gives him a wink and what he hopes comes across as a saucy smile. 

Max gets a dreamy look on his face and plops back into the bed’s pillows. “Gosh,” he says, waving at Steve. “Okay. See you around, Danny.”

Steve makes another fake face at him, then turns and leaves the room. Out in the hallway, he breathes deeply in relief, then he laughs at himself. “Getting picky, Rogers,” he scolds himself. He should be so lucky as to just be an ear to complain to for ten dollars an hour. Idly, his hand slips into his pants pocket and feels the dollar bill in there. It’s crispy and new; straight from the bank. Sighing at the craziness that this is his life, he heads for the elevator. The second number Henry had written on the card is 930. Steve is kind of intrigued, as he knows that the ninth floor of the hotel is nothing but penthouse suites. 

The rooms on the ninth floor are indeed fancier, Steve finds, as he’s taken by the hand and led into the opulent room by a smiling woman. If it was anybody else, he probably would have looked around first to appreciate the high ceilings, ornate furniture and plush, white carpet. But this woman that’s grabbed his hand is… _She’s gorgeous_. Like, movie star gorgeous. She’s got waves of shiny blonde hair, just like Veronica Lake, and lips like Betty Grable. Steve positively sinks into her smiling green eyes, and his first thought upon seeing her is: _Oh, Bucky’s going to be so jealous_. Then he realizes that he can’t tell Bucky about her at all, and Steve pouts. 

“Honey! Oh come over here,” the woman crows, drawing Steve into her arms for a kiss straight away. Steve is taken-aback, but after a second relaxes and kisses her. Or… more like lets her kiss him. She parts his lips with her tongue—something Steve’s done with Bucky but which he’s never had a dame do to him. It’s bold, as is the way the woman’s hands move straight into his hair and onto his shoulders, holding him close. When she’s pulled back and Steve is left in a muddled cloud of arousal and gardenia perfume, he hears a chuckle coming from somewhere behind in the room. 

A masculine chuckle. 

Steve whirls around. And holy-fucking-moly, her husband is just as good-looking. Steve remembers how he’d thought that James looked like a movie star. He’d been wrong. _This_ guy looks like he just walked out of a picture. Steve flushes, embarrassed. He’d just been kissing this man’s _wife_ , and yet the guy is looking at Steve without a hint of jealousy in his eyes. In fact, Steve thinks, he’s looking at him like all Steve’s other clients do; with lust. Steve gulps. Christ, he is so out of his depth. “Um,” he tries, feeling like he should definitely say something. “Hi.” It comes out sounding timid, and Steve feels stupid as soon as he hears it, but the man just smiles warmly. 

“Well hello there. We were hoping you’d come up.”

The woman comes up behind Steve, startling him a little when she leans against him. “We picked you out, just special,” she purrs in his ear, sounding delighted. “I’m not very good at waiting, I’m afraid.” She kisses Steve on his ear, making him shiver. “Tom here had to keep me from touching myself.”

Steve coughs, flustered, and it makes both of them laugh. The man—Tom, it would seem—walks closer, coming in to stand at Steve’s front, where his wife stands at his back. Steve inhales, not sure what to do. Slowly, Tom leans forward. He tips his head down and kisses Steve’s mouth. It’s soft and brief, just about the opposite of what the woman’s kiss had been. When he’s done, he just barely pulls away, and says into Steve’s lips, “Catherine and I would very much like to take you to bed.” His voice is low, and calm, and does strange things to Steve’s belly. “Would you enjoy that?” he asks him.

Steve swallows, tongue feeling thick where it rests in his mouth. “I, ah.” He falters for anything else to say, so he just nods. “Okay.”

Tom smiles—a slow, creeping smile that spreads across his face like molasses, and Steve is struck dumb again by how handsome he is. _Why the hell do people this good-looking pay for sex?!_ Steve wonders, not for the first time. He’d thought it about James and he especially thinks about it now that he’s met Tom, since he obviously has a beautiful wife. Steve is all caught up in these thoughts, but he’s shaken out of it when he feels Tom’s hand sliding into his pocket. For a second he’s confused, but then he realizes that the man is slipping money in there. “For you,” Tom says quietly, pecking his lips again. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

Steve licks his lips, trying to remember the name he’d picked for that night. His brains, however, have decided to turn to scrambled eggs. “St—eve,” he stutters, remembering only halfway through the word that he’s supposed to be “Danny” tonight. _Oh well_ , he thinks. Cat's out of the bag.

“Well Steve,” Catherine says, and now she’s kissing at the back of his neck and it’s making Steve’s eyes slipped closed. “Tom and I have this thing, you see. We like to make love with another person in our bed.”

Steve feels his heartbeat like a drum inside his ears. “Oh?” he says.

“Mmhm.” Catherine wraps her arms around him from behind. She speaks into his ear and tells him, “Tom really likes it when we touch another person together, make them feel really good, and then he likes to sit back and make _himself_ feel good while I get fucked.”

Steve is erect. He’s erect in his pants and no one has even touched him. He honestly feels like no man on earth could tease him for it, though. Not with what this woman’s just whispered into his ear. “I—” he starts, have to stop and catch his breath before he can successfully say, “I can help you with that.”

He can practically hear Catherine’s smile, and in front of him Steve can see Tom’s matching grin. “Excellent,” he says, stepping forward. For a second, Steve thinks the man is going to kiss him again, but instead he wraps his arms around Steve much the same way that his wife is doing from behind, and he kisses her from over Steve’s shoulder. Steve inhales sharply, and when he turns his head to get a good look at what they’re doing, he feels his cock jerk in his pants. 

Fuck.

-

Tom and Catherine, Steve decides only minutes into their sex, are his absolute favorite customers yet. Steve tries to get on his knees for Tom, since that’s what all the guys seem to like best, but the man just chuckles and pulls him up by his armpits. He kisses Steve, deeply and intimately, and when he pulls back and guides Steve to look at the bed, Catherine is splayed out on it, her dress disappeared and her hand rubbing over the front of her panties. Steve groans, and they both chuckle at him for it. Tom stands behind Steve and husks in his ear. “You like that, Steve?” He reaches around and starts rubbing Steve’s erection from over his slacks. “Isn’t she pretty?” he rumbles, breath hot against Steve’s skin. “Look at her; she loves this. Look how she’s touching herself. You ever seen a woman do that?” Steve’s stomach flips. He shakes his head. “Mmm. It’s sexy, huh?” Tom asks. “I love watching her touch herself. She likes to do it like this, you see? Just rub like that. Then when she really gets going she’ll take those soaking panties off and stick her fingers in herself.” Steve groans, and Tom chuckles. “Yeah, I know. I like it too.” He kisses at Steve’s neck and nips him there, then tells him, “But that’s not what she’s going to do tonight. You know why?”

Steve just barely manages to answer. “Why?”

“Because you’re going to climb on that bed and do it for her,” he says. Steve moans. “Yeah,” Tom says, moving his hand firmer over the front of Steve’s pants. “You’re going to finger her, and put your face between her legs— _god_ , she loves that. Just wait and see. You stick your tongue in her cunt and she’ll purr real good.”

“Honey,” Catherine says from the bed, “Be gentle. You’re going to give the poor boy an aneurism.”

Tom laughs, but he does pull away. Steve watches as he crosses the room and seats himself in an armchair, facing right at the bed. He’ll have a front row seat, Steve realizes. “Stevie,” Catherine croons, getting his attention. Steve’s eyes fly to her, at the use of the name that only Bucky ever uses. Catherine smiles. “Come here.” She crooks her finger.

Steve goes over, makes to crawl onto the bed, but realizes that he’s still dressed. “Oh,” he says. He looks at Catherine, and she must see what he’s thinking because her lips quirk and she nods,

“Yeah, get naked first.”

Steve nods and starts with his shirt, then tries to get his belt undone without revealing how his hands tremble. He’s so nervous and excited at the same time. He’s never done much more than kiss a girl. He’d felt Francis Goldman up in an alley outside the automat once, but he’s not at all sure about what to do between a woman’s legs. All he really has to go on is the stuff Bucky’s told him, and that hardly feels like enough once Steve’s gotten himself naked and is kneeling between Catherine’s thighs, looking at her. Steve blushes. “Um,” he says.

“You just do what Tom tells you to,” Catherine tells him, kind smile on her face. She spreads her legs a little wider and looks over to where her husband sits. “Sweetie?”

“Lay down,” Tom instructs, and Steve quickly figures out that he’s talking to him. “So you can see her real good,” he adds. Steve does so, and with his face that close to Catherine’s center, he can see _everything_. Hell, he can downright _smell_ her. “Is she wet?” Tom asks, sounding eager to know. 

Steve nods. “Yeah.” She really, really is. He’s taken aback by how strong the urge is to lick her there, to see how she tastes. He holds off. “What do you want me to do?” he asks.

“Rub her clit,” he says.

Steve frowns, panicking a little because he’s not at all sure what that means. Catherine must have anticipated this though, because she reaches down to demonstrate for him. “Here,” she says, looking at him through hooded eyes. “Like this.”

Steve nods. Delicately, he reaches and mimics what she’d just done. For a second, he worries that he’s not doing it right, but then her eyes slip closed and she’s thumping her head back into the pillow. Her hips press up against his hand. “Oh, baby,”’ she says. “Oh he’s a fast learner, this one.”

Steve blushes massively, both at her words and Tom’s answering chuckle. He hears Tom say, “Suck her. Use your mouth and fuck her with your fingers.”

Steve listens. He moves up the bed some and gets his mouth where his fingers had just been. Carefully, he leans down and licks over that part of her. She sighs as if it feels good, and he does it again. Above him, he feels her fingers run through his hair. “Oh, yeah honey. That’s good. Just like that with your tongue and a little bit firmer, yeah?” 

Steve listens, doing just as she’s instructed. He’s struck by the intense desire to do everything right for her. He wants to make her feel good, wants to make her come, if he can. When she makes an even more pleased sound at his change in technique, he’s spurred onwards. Steve remembers what Tom had said about using his fingers, so he brings one hand up to rub over her entrance. She’s so wet there. It makes Steve’s head spin, makes his thoughts rocket to ones of what it would be like to sink into her wetness, to feel her all around him. With that in mind, he pushes his fingers into her, and he groans against her sex when he gets a feel of how hot and tight she is inside. _Oh_ , Steve wants to fuck her. He’s never wanted to fuck a dame so much in his life.

Above, Catherine is keening and crying out. She’s rubbing herself down against Steve’s face and hands, and Steve doesn’t know if she’s close to coming but it certainly sounds like she could be. When he manages a glance upwards, he can see that she’s got her hands on her breasts, pushing and squeezing them, pinching at her nipples. Steve groans again and ruts his cock into the bed. 

“That’s enough.”

Catherine’s body stills and that, more than Tom’s words, gets the message across. Steve pulls his face back from her. Catherine’s eyes go dark at the sight of him. “Oh, fuck,” she curses. “Baby, c’mere. You’ve got to see him. He’s all messy.”

Steve doesn’t realize what she means at first, but then Tom is coming over and drawing Steve back up to kneeling. Tom groans while looking at Steve’s mouth. “Sure is, babydoll,” he says. His eyes lift to fix on Steve’s. “Look so good with her juices all over your chin,” he husks. Steve’s eyes widen, but before he can say anything, Tom is surging in to kiss him. He sucks and licks into Steve’s mouth as if trying to get the taste of Catherine from him. Then, when he’s done kissing him, he goes down further and sucks the taste of her off Steve’s chin. Steve shudders at the thought of it. “You always taste so sweet, babydoll,” Tom tells Catherine, not pulling his eyes from Steve. She makes a lazy, pleased sound from her spot on the bed. “Steve,” Tom says, and here he fixes Steve with a serious look. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Steve gulps. “Um, okay. What—”

Tom puts his lips right to Steve’s ear and says, “Will you fuck my wife?”

Steve’s breath lodges in his throat, forgotten for a long, buzzing moment. When he finally does resume inhaling, Steve blinks wide eyes at Tom and nods. “Okay,” he says, voice small. “Yeah.”

Tom grins and kisses him again, reaching down to give his cock a pull as well. Steve whimpers and thrusts into it. Chuckling, Tom pulls back and gets a condom out of his pocket. “Here,” he says, and then he’s getting right down onto his knees, apparently ready to put the condom on himself. Steve doesn’t have a reason to tell him no, so he just watches with lust-blown eyes as the other man holds his dick and rolls the condom down over him. After, Tom gets up and goes back to sit in the armchair. He nods his permission to Steve. “Go on,” he says. “Fuck her.”

Steve licks his lips, then turns to regard Catherine again. She’s still laying down, but now her hand has wandered down between her legs and she’s back to rubbing herself. Steve stares, unable not to, and she stares right back and tells him, “Come here, honey. Gonna make you feel so good.”

Steve sinks down over her, and into her. She _does_ make him feel good. And to Steve’s immense satisfaction, he’s able to make her feel good too—twice.

-

Later, once Tom and Catherine have kissed him and thanked him and called him about a thousand pet names, Steve turns down their offer to join them in the shower. They disappear into the bathroom and, given that the hour’s almost up, Steve leaves for the lobby. When he bothers to count the money Tom had put in his pocket, Steve’s eyes bug out of his head. Fifteen dollars for two people? That means… Steve just got a twenty dollar tip.

He’s on cloud nine from this revelation, when Henry saunters up to his side and tells him, “Got you another one. Business is booming.” 

Steve looks up at him, taken aback. “Oh,” he says. He thinks he might bow out for the night. Not even ten o’clock and already he’s got over forty dollars to take home. “Well,” he hedges. “That couple really did tip a lot. I think I’ll just head out if—”

Henry is making a face and shaking his head. “Hey. No, don’t be like that. I got a guy up there. He wasn’t picky, just said send someone pretty up. I think he’ll really like you.”

Steve screws up his face. “I don’t know Henry.”

“Come on,” Henry cajoles. “Just do this one guy and then you can go home if you want. Please? He’s already up there waiting and my other boys are all busy.”

Steve doesn’t like Henry’s persuasive attitude. He doesn’t like being made to feel like he has to do this, but he winds up giving in with a huff. “Fine,” he says. “What room?”

Henry grins at him. “What’d I tell ya? A real peach.”

-

Room 331 is at the very far end of a hallway, the last before a wall with a window looking out at the nighttime Brooklyn streets. Funny, Steve thinks as he knocks on the door and waits for it to open. Doing all this in the fancy rooms of the St. George, he mostly forgets that he’s even _in_ Brooklyn. 

The door to the room opens, and Steve stares in shock because he definitely knows the man on the other side.


	6. Cliff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHECK THE TAGS. They've been updated. There's a rape scene in this chapter, and it's pretty graphic.

Steve blinks at the man in front of him. The man (Steve actually knows this john’s name) looks even _more_ shocked to see Steve than Steve is to see him. “Um…” Steve starts, but before he can say anything else, Clifton Danvers is grabbing him by the upper arm and hauling him into the room. Steve whirls around, sees Clifton peeking his head back and forth out the door, and asks him, “What are you—”

“Did anybody see you?” Cliff asks. 

Steve blinks. “No. I mean there was nobody in the hall when I came up.” He frowns. “What are you doing here?” Cliff turns and gives him a _look_. Steve twists his lips. “I mean, I guess I know what you’re doing here, but I ah…” he trails off, not knowing what else to say and wishing he could just eat his words. “I’m just surprised,” he finishes. Clifton huffs and pushes past him, going over to the room’s sideboard and grabbing up the bottle of liquor that sits there. It’s not a crystal decanter like Frank had had; it hasn’t come with the room. Steve recognizes the brand of cheap gin as one that Bucky sometimes buys, and he figures that unlike his other clients, Cliff doesn’t have the money for the extra amenities. He apparently has enough money for _some_ though, since Steve _is_ standing in the room with him. “Ah,” he tries again, chuckling awkwardly. “Wow, so um, you come to the St. George, huh?”

Cliff shoots him a glare. He’s poured himself a glass of gin and takes it over to the room’s armchair, in which he slumps. He takes a swig, then jerks his chin at Steve. “You’re a hooker, huh?”

Steve winces. “Um, yeah.” He wants to correct Cliff; say that he’s actually something called a ‘call boy’. But that’s a technicality and really, Steve just remembers that fact to make himself feel better. “Yeah I am,” he says. He goes to sit on the edge of the bed. Cliff seems to want to drink, so maybe he’s a talker. “You come here often?” Steve asks.

Cliff scoffs. “No.” His eyes flick up and down Steve’s body. He still looks mostly grumpy, but there is an undertone of what Steve has readily become able to identify as lust. “How long you been selling your ass?” he asks. It’s crude, and it’s obvious that he means it to be rude.

Steve frowns. “Not long,” he says, countering with, “How long’ve you been paying for it?”

Cliff looks at him murderously. “Fuck,” he huffs, throwing back another drink. “You’re just what everyone says, Rogers. A regular fag.”

Steve grits his teeth, trying to remind himself that he’s supposed to be catering to this man’s needs. Doesn’t matter if he’s rude. Or a parishioner at Steve’s church. Steve tries to relax his body, leans back on his arms on the bed. “Maybe,” he says easily, as if Cliff’s slur hasn’t bothered him. “Do you want to feel me out? See if you like it?”

Cliff huffs again, but this time his dark eyes _do_ peruse Steve with a little bit more consideration. He sits there and drinks, and stews, and after a while he tells him, “You’re such a small guy, huh? Could almost pass for a dame, if you dressed yourself up.”

Steve blushes. “Hey, I dunno about that.”

Cliff smirks. “You and your ma, always so righteous. Sitting up there in the front pew. Who woulda guessed the Rogers kid was bent?” He chuckles and drinks again.

“You watch your mouth,” Steve says without thinking about it. “My ma’s dead and gone. Don’t talk about her.”

“Hmph.” Cliff sets his glass aside on a table. He looks at Steve. “Yeah, guess I shouldn’t. What would she think of her son, if she could see you?”

Steve’s guts churn, that one hitting too close to home. “I don’t know,” he counters. “What would your wife think of you, if she could see you?”

Steve immediately knows that that was the wrong thing to say, because Cliff jumps up from his seat, enraged. He points a threatening finger at Steve. “You shut your mouth!” he says. “I better not _ever_ hear you spreading this around to anyone. I’ll kill ya if you do. Even that faggoty-ass friend of yours.”

Steve gulps. He suddenly realizes that he needs to leave the room. “Sorry,” he rushes, standing from the bed. “I won’t say a word, swear. I’ll just have them send someone else up.” He turns as if to make for the door, but before he can so much as take two steps, Cliff is at his back, grabbing him. “Hey!” Steve twists his head around, panicked. “Let me go!”

Cliff shakes him, tossing him towards the bed. “You got no fucking manners, you know that?” he growls. His hands grip harshly at Steve, getting him onto his back on the bed, his legs dangling over the edge. Cliff hunches over so that his face is in Steve’s and he’s breathing gin-tinted breath down at him. “Someone oughta teach you a lesson.”

Steve squirms, grimacing. “What? Let me go!” Cliff gets this nasty smirk on his face, and it makes Steve’s blood chill in fear. He struggles harder. Cliff grunts at this, annoyed, and he draws back and backhands him across the face. Steve cries out, ears ringing from the blow. “Ah!” He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to recover. Cliff’s hands have left him. After a second, Steve blinks his eyes back open. What he sees makes him gasp in fear. “Cliff!” he says, “No. Please!” Cliff is undoing his pants. Steve scrambles to get up. 

It’s not fast enough. Before Steve can make it off the bed, Cliff is grabbing him, flipping him over and shoving him back down. Steve’s hands claw at the duvet, trying to crawl up the bed. “No!” he shouts, trying to get away and feeling terrified because his efforts clearly aren’t working. Cliff is grabbing at his hips and pulling him back so that he’s bent over the edge of the bed. He pins him with his hips and then his whole body. Steve sobs. “Please, Cliff. Don’t, don’t!”

Cliff isn’t listening. He’s using his upper body to pin Steve to the bed while his hands work further down. He’s getting Steve’s fly open and yanking down his slacks. Steve’s underwear go with them and Steve sobs again as Cliff grunts into his hair. “Hold Still, ya punk,” he says. He sounds vaguely amused, as if this is all some sort of rough and tumble game. That frightens Steve more than just about anything, because it means that Cliff isn’t going to take Steve’s protests seriously. Steve tries harder to struggle, but that doesn’t seem to work any better than it had a moment ago. Behind, Steve can feel Cliff’s arm working, jerking himself off to, apparently, get hard. Steve starts to scream.

“Help!” he yells, as loud as he can. “Help!” 

Cliff grunts, puts one hand on the back of Steve’s neck, and pushes his face into the bed. Steve yells into the bedcovers, unable to get enough air and voice mostly-muffled. Cliff is leaning over him, putting his lips close to Steve’s ear. He says, “You yell like that again, you’re gonna be real sorry." His hips press forward, and Steve can feel his erection against his ass. “Now I’m planning to get you nice and wet, see. Cause I know it’ll hurt ya to kingdom come and back if I don’t. That’s real nice of me, ain’t it?” When Steve doesn’t say anything, Cliff shakes him by his grip on his neck and yells into his ear, “AIN’T it?!”

Steve sobs. He nods his head, just wanting to get Cliff to stop. He mumbles an agreement into the bedcovers. It makes Cliff remove his hand from the back of Steve’s neck, which is a relief. Steve immediately turns his face to the side, gulping air. His face is stained with tears. “Please,” he says again, this time plaintive and quiet. “Please don’t.”

Cliff laughs. “Aw, Sugar, you crying?”

Steve sniffles. “You don’t have to do this. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” He figures, if he can calm Cliff down, this won’t happen. He can make sure the man doesn’t hurt him. _Not like this_ , Steve thinks desperately, _not like this_.

Behind, Cliff is humming darkly. “Oh, I know you will. You’re gonna be real good for me now, aren’t you? Gonna shut up and take what you’re given.” Steve whimpers, shakes his head and tries to push up from the bed again. He is unceremoniously shoved back down. “Uh uh,” Cliff says. “You’re not going anywhere. Not till we have a little fun.”

“ _Cliff_ ,” Steve begs. “ _Please_. You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m gonna,” he says, ignoring Steve’s pleas. “And your fairy ass is gonna like it, just wait and see.”

Steve sobs. He’s crying freely now; more than he has since his ma died. “No,” he says, unable to stop struggling even though it’s clear now that he’s not going to be able to overpower the other man. “No, please. No.”

Cliff rubs his dick against Steve’s ass, hands on his back pressing him hard into the bed. “Shh,” he says. “Stop your blabbering.” He’s back to jerking himself off again—Steve can feel it. “You might even enjoy this, if you just shut up and calm down.”

Steve gets quiet. He needs to get out of here, he thinks, but he can’t do it physically; he’s too damned weak. So he goes boneless and does it mentally instead. He slips away, partly, still able to feel some of his panic, still able to feel Cliff holding him down, jerking himself off. He can hear him panting, but if Steve stares at the wall and thinks about the wallpaper, maybe Cliff’s huffing breath won’t make his guts churn so bad. Steve blinks, staring at the wallpaper.

Cliff seems to take Steve’s bonelessness as compliance, because he chuckles again and slaps his ass lightly. “There ya go,” he says, and he spits and Steve feels it land in a glob on his ass. Cliff curses. “Fuck.” His fingers rub it down into Steve’s crack, over his hole. “God,” Cliff huffs. “Bet you’re real loose for me, huh? Bet your asshole’s been stretched out all to hell and back.” He laughs meanly, pushing his finger in and inhaling sharply at the feeling. “Oh,” he breathes, and then he chuckles. “Well maybe not, then.”

Beneath him, Steve whimpers. “Please,” he says again, though by now it’s much quieter. He can’t stop saying it, just keeps whimpering on a repeat: _please, please, please_. 

Cliff must take this for meaning that Steve wants it, because he hums and tells him, “Oh, I’ll give it to you good, Sugar. Just you wait.” His finger moves, poking into Steve far rougher than Steve would like. It burns, with just the spit and no gentleness, and Steve whines into the covers. Cliff just smacks his ass again. “None of that,” he says. He rubs his cock against Steve’s ass cheek as he continues to thrust his finger, in and out. “Fuck,” he curses. “You’re so pretty Rogers. Should’a figured you were a cocksucker.” He leans over Steve’s back, saying in his ear, “Bet you’d like that, huh? Getting your mouth on my cock, sucking me off.” He licks a stripe up the back of Steve’s neck, then straightens. He thrusts his finger, crooks it.

To Steve’s horror, his body jolts. He cries out at the zing of pleasure that shoot through him. Cliff barks out a laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “You love it.”

“No,” Steve whimpers. “No, no, no.”

Cliff acts like he doesn’t even hear him. He pulls his finger out of Steve, spits on it, then spits on it again. “Gonna fuck you,” he says. He pushes his finger back into Steve. His spit slicks the way a little better this time, but Steve is terrified. _Terrified_. Cliff is going to do this. He’s going to rape him and he’s going to hurt him. Steve tries to get up one more time. “Stay down!” Cliff yells at him, shoving him down and cuffing him on the back of his head. 

Steve moans, seeing stars. “ _Oh_.”

“Stay the fuck down,” Cliff warns, sounding grumpy once more. The sound of him spitting repeatedly comes again, but Steve doesn’t feel it hit his body and Cliff’s fingers don’t come back, so he figures that the man is slicking up his cock. Steve trembles in fear. 

“Please,” he says again, tears very evident in his voice. “I don’t want it, I don’t want it.”

Cliff just tisks and lines his cock up. “Honestly, Rogers. I don’t know what I could’ve done to give you the impression that I give a crap about what you want.” 

He pushes in.

-

After, when Cliff has stepped away and zipped up his slacks and Steve is just lying there, counting the swirls in the wallpaper, something green falls down onto the bed near Steve’s face. He blinks, focusing his eyes and realizing that it’s money. “You’re a peach,” Cliff says, “just like Henry said.” He comes closer and strokes his hand down Steve’s back. Steve shudders. “You remember what I said, yeah? No funny business. Anybody ever hears about this, you’re dead.” He bends down, kisses the back of Steve’s head. “That’s a promise.” He straightens up, and then he leaves.

It takes a long time before Steve is able to make himself get up from the bed and pull up his pants, but eventually, he does. 

.oOo.

If Henry notices anything wrong with Steve when he comes downstairs to give him his ten percent, he doesn’t say anything. Steve wants to give Henry the whole damned ten dollars that Cliff had left, but Henry hands him back nine and Steve just shoves it into his pocket. He needs to get the hell out of there.

He walks through the door to their apartment at eleven thirty, and one glance around shows Steve that Bucky’s clearly still out for the night. Sniffling, Steve grabs a towel and his soap and goes down to the tenement bathroom. He turns the water to just below boiling and jumps in. The soap goes forgotten as he just stands there, letting the water fall on him and hurt him. At that temperature, it goes cold after two minutes, and Steve gets out and goes back down the hall to their apartment. He drops the towel and goes into the bedroom. He needs to fall asleep as soon as possible. Steve sets his alarm to wake him up for early morning mass the next day, feeling disgusting as he does it, then climbs into Bucky’s bed. He pulls the covers up and puts Bucky’s pillow in front of himself, pushing his face into it so he can fall asleep to Bucky’s scent.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Steve wakes up to the smell of booze and hands on his hips. He startles, ripping his head from the pillow with a gasp and jerking around. His heart pounds. It’s just Bucky. Bucky smiles at him, grin all lopsided like it does when he’s drunk. “Hey Stevie,” he says. His hands come back, pulling Steve up against him. He bends to kiss him, but Steve turns his head. Bucky chuckles and kisses at his neck instead. “Mm,” he says. “Missed you at the dance hall. Found Francis Goldman, took her to the back—you know her,” he chuckles. “Man Steve, I kept wishing you were there. I’m pretty sure old Frannie would have let you watch.” He nips at Steve’s earlobe and husks, “What do you think of that? Huh? You think we could ever get a girl back here? If not Frannie, maybe a pro. I know this girl: Ruby.” Bucky’s fingers run up and down Steve’s arm, his side. “Would you like that? Sharing a dame with me?” he purrs. “Betcha we could make her come a dozen times.” He chuckles, pawing at Steve, reaching around to grab his ass.

Steve grunts and squirms. “Bucky, Stop. Stoppit.”

Pausing, Bucky pulls back enough to look at him. “Huh?” he asks, looking confused. “You don’t want to?” His grin reappears after a second, and he leans back in to kiss Steve and murmur against his lips. “You always do,” he says, grin in his voice. “You tired though? Need me to get you worked up? I can do that.” His hand snakes down to between Steve’s legs, cupping him where he’s soft. “I’ll give it to you real good, Sugar.”

Steve jerks back like he’s been stung. He scrambles away from Bucky on the bed, yelling, “No!” 

Bucky looks at him in shock. “What the hell?” His features bleed into a look of concern. “Stevie?”

Steve pants, feeling the adrenaline seep from his body. He’d _seen_ Cliff, heard him and smelled him when Bucky had said that, had said the same damned thing into his ear. _I’ll give it to you good, Sugar_. Steve shudders and hurries to climb over Bucky. Bucky doesn’t move to stop him, and Steve crawls under the covers of his own bed. The sheets are cold and don’t smell like anything. Steve hates it. He turns his back to Bucky and stares at the wall. There is no wallpaper here to focus on, so instead he just shuts his eyes. “M’sorry,” he mumbles into the dark, unable to come up with a decent lie as to why he just freaked out. “I just don’t want to. Not tonight.”

Across the room, Bucky is silent. Steve imagines that he’s staring across the way at him. After a long time, Bucky just says softly, “Okay Stevie. Okay. Good night then.”

Steve sighs, relieved that Bucky isn’t going to make him talk. “Night.”

.oOo.

Steve’s alarm wakes him at seven, and he groans as he realizes that he’s left it all the way across the room, beside Bucky’s bed. Getting up to turn it off, he freezes when the noise stops and he sees Bucky tipped over the edge of his bed, hand atop the alarm clock. Steve blinks at him. “Uh, thanks,” he says.

Bucky just looks at him. He looks worried. “Sure thing pal.”

Steve clears his throat, not liking Bucky’s scrutiny. He gets up and goes to get dressed in his Sunday clothes. He can practically feel Bucky’s eyes boring into him from behind. Steve turns around, fingers knotting his tie. “What?”

Bucky tilts his head. “You want me to come with you to mass?” 

Steve represses a wince. He shakes his head. “Naw, you sleep in. I’ll be back by nine thirty and we can have breakfast.”

Bucky’s lips curve in a tentative grin. “Pancakes?”

Steve just rolls his eyes. “Sure, Buck.” He turns to walk out the door, but at the last second Bucky calls out,

“Steve?”

Steve stiffens, stopping in the door but not turning back around. “What?” he asks.

“…Last night. What was that?”

Steve sighs. He looks down at his shoes, feeling awful. “Nothing Buck. I just had a nightmare is all. Guess it took a minute to shake off.”

Bucky is quiet. “Oh,” he says, voice small. “Kay.”

Steve nods, and leaves.

.oOo.

Outside of St. Anne’s, Steve stares at the doors to the church. They’re heavy brown things that look like they could’ve been imported from Europe. Steve has always liked the interiors of Catholic churches. They’re dim, and silent, and they smell like incense. Inside, it just _feels_ holy, the silence and the haunting glass windows making Steve feel like he’s almost underwater. It’s comforting, like being in a womb. He remembers going to a small, cavernous aquarium with his ma once, remembers how the light from the surface had shined down in scattered stripes and made the dark observation room glow. That’d felt the same; like being in church. 

Steve wonders if Clifton Danvers will be sitting in the sixth row back, like he usually does. It'll ruin it, if he is, Steve thinks. He won't feel like he's underwater, he'll just feel like he's scrabbling at the surface, drowning. He wonders if maybe he should switch to the eleven o’clock service. But Steve thinks of his ma and knows that she’d want him to be brave, so he swallows his nerves and goes up and opens the door. 

Inside, Clifton Danvers is indeed sitting in the sixth row back. His wife, Clarissa, is sitting beside him, and their four children are there too. Steve swallows, feeling sick to his stomach. _No_ , he thinks. He can’t do this. 

For the first time in two years, he walks back out the door, and misses Sunday morning mass.

.oOo.

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

Steve says the words, and father Kelly says his. When he asks Steve what his sins are, Steve sighs and admits. “I missed mass today.”

A pause. “That’s not such a serious sin.”

“…I missed it on purpose,” Steve says.

Father Kelly hums. “Why did you do that?”

“I…” Steve gulps. He might as well say it, he thinks. If he can’t say it in confession, where the hell else can he say it? “I was afraid,” he finishes.

“Oh? Why?”

“There was someone here,” Steve says. “I saw them and I didn’t… I _couldn’t_.” He huffs. “I couldn’t face them. I left.”

Father Kelly is quiet for a long time. When he speaks, he asks, “Why were you afraid of them?”

Steve feels his guts sink. He’s going to have to tell him. He’s a priest. Steve can’t lie to a priest. “They hurt me,” he admits quietly. “They attacked me.”

Father Kelly grunts, frustrated. “Steven. For goodness sakes. You’re always getting yourself into scrabbles. Why don’t you look after yourself better?”

Steve twists his lips wryly. Father Kelly’s not supposed to _admit_ that he knows it’s him on the other side of the partition. “This was different,” he tells him. “This person… they… they forced me.” He can’t get any more than that out, but when Father Kelly doesn’t say anything for a long moment, Steve knows that he’s gotten his meaning across. “I didn’t want to see them,” he finishes. 

Father Kelly says, “This person is a parishioner here?” 

Steve nods, even though he’s hidden from sight. “Yes. He…” Steve freezes, realizes he’s just given away that he’s been raped by a man. _Oh well_ , he thinks. Father Kelly isn’t stupid; he’s probably already figured that out on his own. “He has a family. People like him. I—”

“You don’t have to tell me any more, Steven,” Father Kelly says gently. “If you don’t want to. And you don’t need to be in confession for this.”

Steve frowns. “But I skipped—”

“I think the Lord would understand,” Father Kelly says firmly. “Don’t you?”

Steve looks down, ashamed. “I don’t know.” He has to get his nerve up to say the next part. “It was… it was kind of my fault, what happened.”

“ _Steven_ ,” Father Kelly scolds.

“No, it was,” Steve insists. “I… I’ve been um, going with the wrong crowd, so to speak.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve sighs. “I’ve been, doing favors. For money. For men.”

Father Kelly is quiet. “I see.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Steve says, huffing.

“Well, yes.” Father Kelly sighs. “You know well enough what the church’s position about that is.”

Steve swallows, feeling like a piece of dirt on someone’s shoe. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Guess you think I’m going straight to hell, huh?”

Father Kelly makes a noise that, to Steve, sounds like indignation. “It’s not for me to judge you, Steven. You need to look after yourself. Now a man has hurt you, yes?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“Well I would say that you can’t let his presence keep you from mass, but I’ve heard confessions like this before and you’re not the first soul to fear coming in.”

Steve looks up at the partition screen with wide eyes. “What? Really?”

“Yes.” Father Kelly scoffs. “People have an uncanny ability to hurt one another, I’m afraid.” After a beat, he adds, “You’ve seen that now. Don’t go blaming yourself, like some people do. But also, if you continue down this path you’ve chosen, you will be hurt again.”

Steve frowns. “Oh?”

“Most probably.”

Steve huffs. He’d just wanted Father Kelly to assign him a bajillion Hail Marys and send him on his way. Rubbing his hands over the knees of his slacks, he asks, “Father?”

“Yes, my son?”

“What do _you_ think?” 

His meaning must be clear, because Father Kelly is quiet for a long time. After a while, he eventually says, “I think that the Lord works in mysterious ways, and that even the most miserable of circumstances can bring us closer to God.” Gently, he says, “For your penance: don’t miss mass next week. Pray the rosary, just once. And when you become able to, try hard to forgive this man who has hurt you.”

Steve grits his teeth, not at all sure he’ll ever be able to do that last. But he doesn’t say that out loud. Instead he just nods and agrees, and recites the Act of Contrition so that Father Kelly will tell him that he can go in peace. Steve wants so badly to go in peace. 

But when he leaves church after confession, he feels no better than when he walked in.

.oOo.

When the next weekend rolls around, going to the St. George is completely out of the question. Steve doesn’t even consider it. He spends the weekend idling around in the apartment and dodging Bucky’s questions about his job, and when Bucky goes to work on Monday and Steve has time on his own, he figures that it’s high time for him to come up with an apology for Bucky. Steve’s slept in his own bed for a week, offering a weak lie about feeling like he might be coming down with something and not wanting to pass it on to Bucky. Steve feels lousy for it, now. Bucky has obviously wanted to be close to him but has been holding back. Bucky’s left Steve alone, but he’s been sad.

So while Bucky’s at work, Steve takes some of the money out from between the pages of his sketchbook and he goes and buys two ribeye steaks and a bottle of Crown Royal. When Bucky gets home and walks through the door, he instantly perks up at the smell of cooking meat. “God,” he says, peering over at the stove where Steve is cooking, trying to get a glimpse of what he’s made. “That smells _wonderful_.” 

Steve turns around with a grin, steaks cooked just the way Bucky likes and plated next to heaps of his ma’s rosemary potatoes. Bucky groans. “Jeeze, Stevie. What’s the occasion?”

Steve twists his lips and sets the plates on the table. “Nothin’,” he says. “Just felt bad for giving you the cold shoulder this week.”

Bucky straightens up from where he’s been untying and shucking off his shoes. “Oh?” He doesn’t look mad. Instead he looks curious, and maybe a tiny bit worried. “You okay, Stevie?” he asks. “It’s not like you, ya know?”

Steve tries not to cringe. “Yeah, I know. And I’m real sorry Buck. You don’t deserve that.” 

Bucky stares at him for a beat longer, but then he’s shaking it off and smiling at what Steve’s made. “This looks swell,” he says, going to sit at the table. 

Steve smiles proudly, glad to have done something nice for him. And all the better that Bucky isn’t pressing the issue of why Steve’s been so distant. Steve _never_ wants him to know about what’d happened last Saturday night. “Medium-well,” he says, “just like you like it, ya freak.”

Bucky laughs and digs in to his steak.

Bucky doesn’t ask about how or why Steve spent the extra money on something as extravagant as steak. He gobbles his dinner up, and when the two of them are fat and happy and lounging on the couch, Steve remembers the other part of his surprise. “Oh!” he says, getting up and going to get the bottle of Crown Royal out from where he’s hidden it under the sink. He walks back to Bucky, showing him. “I also got this,” he says, grinning. “Wanna get sloshed and have some fun?”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Christ almighty, Steve. How the heck much did _that_ cost you?”

Steve wave it off, not liking the suspicious look in Bucky’s eyes as he scrutinizes the bottle. “Eh, it was on sale.”

“Riight,” Bucky drawls. “Stevie, you sure are a big spender these days. What gives?”

Steve feels the hair at the back of his neck prick up. He makes an annoyed face at Bucky. “Nothin! I told you: I’m making good money. What’s so wrong for wanting to do something special for my best guy, huh?”

Bucky’s face softens at that, distracted by Steve’s words. He relaxes back into the couch. “Your ‘best guy’, huh?”

Steve blushes and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “You are.” Slowly, and mentally steeling himself in a way that he really hopes Bucky can’t see, Steve steps forward and sinks to his knees. 

Bucky’s eyes widen, and then they become hooded. “Oh,” he murmurs, watching as Steve sets the liquor bottle down and settles between his legs. “Yeah?”

Steve nods, smiling up at him. “Yeah,” he tells him, hands running up the inside of his thighs and to the crest where his legs meet his groin. 

Bucky shivers. “Christ Steve. You haven’t done this in a while.” Already, his eyes are slipping closed in relaxation. 

Steve rubs his hands over Bucky’s crotch, over and over, until he can feel him starting to harden in his pants. “Don’t worry,” he says coaxingly, “I haven’t forgotten how.” This earns him a chuckle from Bucky, and Steve reaches to undo his fly and peel his pants and underwear down—not all the way, just enough to expose his cock. Steve tucks the waistband of his briefs behind his balls and watches Bucky’s dick twitch weakly against his thigh. “Aw, Buck,” he breathes, reaching up with one hand to palm it. “You’re so pretty. Love looking at you like this.”

Bucky hums. “I know you do. You gonna suck it?”

Steve nods, not even looking up at Bucky’s face. “Yeah,” he says. He holds Bucky’s cock gently in one hand and puts his mouth to the head, just taking the tip into his mouth and holding it there. Above him, Bucky sighs.

“Aw, hell Stevie. Feels so nice.” Steve hums. He’s not aiming for ‘nice’. He’s going to make Bucky blow his load, hard. With his free hand, he fingers at Bucky’s balls, rolling them and squeezing lightly. Bucky makes a pleasured sound at that as well. In seconds, he’s pretty hard inside Steve’s mouth and Steve pulls back, spits on him and takes him in father. He sucks, drinking in the sounds that Bucky makes above him. Bucky’s hands land on Steve’s head—not pushing him or holding him down, but just cradling his head, feeling his hair. “Oh man,” Bucky says, and Steve can tell just from the sound of his words that he’s got his eyes closed, head probably tipped back against the back of the couch. “Mmm, that’s so damned good. Love it, love you.”

Steve pauses at that. He thinks about how Bucky had taken a leap of faith and said that to him, and now it’s been more than ten days and Steve hasn’t bothered to say anything back. He pulls his mouth off Bucky’s dick and looks up at him. “I love you too,” he says, wanting Bucky to know.

Bucky’s eyes shoot open. He stares at Steve, then a smile creeps onto his face. “You do?” he asks, looking like it’s all he wants in the world.

Steve nods, serious about it. “Yeah, I do.” He rubs his hands down Bucky’s thighs and back up again. “So much.”

Bucky huffs a sort of laugh, looking so, so happy, and then he’s yanking Steve up off the floor by his armpits and hauling him onto the couch and over his lap, completely disrupting the blowjob. 

.oOo.

After Steve’s love confession, they start sleeping together again. Steve avoids sex and steers Bucky towards other things, using his hands and mouth to get him off before he can complain and ask for more. Bucky starts saying ‘I love you’ every day, and Steve finds that it’s not hard to say it back. He means it. He thinks maybe he’s always meant it, even when he never said it. 

And Bucky’s able to ignore the money thing for a while, but then one day Steve decides to buy a new pair of every-day shoes, and when he’s at the store he gets all indulgent and buys _two_ pairs, because hell, he can more than afford it and he’d like to have new church shoes as well. Bucky, unfortunately, sees them in the closet, still in their boxes from Wheeler’s department store, and he confronts Steve. 

“Where is it really coming from?” He asks Steve, when Steve steps in at eight after having been out ~~working~~ sketching in the park. He’s holding Steve’s new dress shoes in one hand like they’re damning evidence. Steve stops right in his tracks, mouth open but no words coming out. “Steve?” Bucky asks, imploring. “Come on buddy, you gotta tell me.” His brow crinkles in concern. “You’re not doing anything illegal, are you? Not running drugs for the O’Malley brothers or something?”

Steve scowls, pushing past Bucky and further into he apartment. “Christ, Buck. _No_.” He huffs. Can’t believe you’d think that.” If part of his affronted anger comes from the fact that he feels guilty that he _is_ doing something illegal (and, in his opinion, worse than working for the O’Malley brothers), well that’s nobody’s business but his own. Steve kicks off his boots and hangs his jacket on the hook by the door. “Why are you on my case about this, huh? You think I can’t do anything? Think I can’t make a decent wage for myself?”

Bucky frowns at him. “Don’t say that. You know I don’t think that.”

“Well then why are you hounding me so much?” Steve snaps. He stares at Bucky, kind of hating the way his expression pinches, but not backing down. “I’m fine,” Steve says, walking over to the icebox to see what’s inside that he can fix for dinner. “So stop worrying about it.”

Bucky is quiet for a long, long moment, but he does eventually sigh and set Steve’s shoes down and say, “Alright Stevie, alright.”

Steve doesn’t know it, but Bucky makes his mind up that night to figure out what he’s up to.


	7. Bucky

For all of the next week, Steve toys with the idea of going back to the St. George. He thinks about nothing else. Should he go back? he wonders. Is it worth the risk? He doesn’t know. He _does_ know that he has over five hundred dollars in the bank, that if he keeps doing what he has been doing for another eight months or so, he’ll have enough tucked away to downright _buy_ Bucky and he a condo in a nice part of town. Steve thinks about that, about how he and Bucky are slowly but surely defining this thing that’s between them. Bucky has said he loves Steve, is _in_ love with him. And Steve feels the same. If he keeps working just eight hours a week at the St. George, he’ll be able to give them so much. Bucky can work less, Steve can get them a condo. He can go back to art school and they can have steak every week if they want. Then Steve can get a real job that pays peanuts and they can live happily ever after, just like it says in kids’ books. 

It’s just that Steve knows that happily ever after doesn’t come free…

In the end, it comes down to the money. But even more than that, it comes down to _Bucky_. Steve wants to give him the world if he can. He can’t stand the thought of becoming useless again, and he finds a way to convince himself that what had happened with Clifton Danvers won’t be likely to happen again. That Saturday, he goes back to the St. George.

.oOo.

Henry isn’t at the desk when Steve arrives, so he goes and finds a comfy chair in the lounge and settles in to listen to the music. When the server comes and asks him if he’d like a drink, Steve feels funny about it and says no. He’s not so sure being intoxicated while doing this is the best idea anymore. Yeah, it’d make him less nervous, but he’s had a little practice now. He doesn’t want to be fuzzy in a room with a stranger. Not anymore. _God, Steve_ , he scolds himself. _What the hell are you even doing?_

As he’s sitting there, a young man whom Steve’s seen in the lobby before comes over and nods at the chair next to Steve’s. “You mind if I sit?” he asks. 

Steve looks around. There are plenty of other open chairs, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he shrugs. “Sure.”

The boy doesn’t waste any time. He holds out his hand to Steve. “I’m Glen,” he says. 

“Hey,” Steve says. He nods at the drink the kid has in his hand. “You old enough to drink that?”

Glen laughs like Steve’s said something funny. “I’m an old soul,” he tells him with a wink. “You’re Steve, right?”

Steve’s eyes widen. “How… how do you know that?

Glen tips his head back towards the front desk. “I’m one of Henry’s boys, too.”

Steve frowns. He very much does not like being referred to as ‘one of Henry’s boys’. He doesn’t argue the point though. He just looks Glen up and down, appraising his form. He’s young, maybe not even eighteen, but his body is tall and wiry. He looks like maybe he plays a sport or two. “I see,” Steve says, taking better note of the kid’s overly-slicked hair and rouged cheeks now. “How long have you been doing this?”

Glen gets a sly smile on his face. “Aw, let’s not talk about that.” Steve raises an eyebrow and Glen capitulates, saying, “Longer than most folks can stomach.” Steve gulps. “Anyway, I heard you were new. Henry pointed you out when you were leaving last week. Said you seemed upset and could probably use a friend.”

Steve scoffs. “Yeah? So what are you, the welcoming committee?”

Glen looks unimpressed. He levels Steve with a serious look. “Look, honey. I know Henry, can read him like a book. And I can tell what he says when he talks and when he doesn’t talk. You know?”

Steve frowns. “Not sure what you’re getting at.”

Glen huffs and takes a big swig of his drink. When he surfaces, he looks at Steve like he can see right into him. “You weren’t sad last week.”

Steve feels his guts clench. “What?”

“You got pushed around, didn’t ya?” he asks.

Steve shakes his head a little. “I… I didn’t… how did you—”

Glan waves his hand dismissively. “I saw you when you walked out. I know the look.”

“You know it, huh?”

Glen twists his lips and nods. His eyes come back up to Steve’s and he asks, “He rape you?”

Steve just sits there, feeling dumb and wishing he had a drink after all. “I, ah...” Glen won’t stop staring at him, and eventually Steve just looks away and mutters, “Yeah,” at the room beyond.

“Hm. Sorry about that,” Glen says. Steve wants to snort and say something mean, but he refrains. “Wanna know a secret?” Glen says after a tense minute of silence between them.

Steve looks over. “What?”

“It’s this trick I have, to feel out the johns. It’s never failed me.”

Steve scrunches his brow. “Um… okay?” He’s intrigued. “What is it?”

“When you’re at the door, ask ‘em what they think the most handsome celebrity is.”

“What?” Steve makes a face. “How does that have anything to do with—”

“Trust me,” Glen says. “Ask ‘em. If they can’t think of it in three seconds flat, or if they get mad at you for asking, just leave. And if you want to double check, see if they’ve brought their own condoms.” He smirks. “Nice guys always come prepared.”

Steve wants to roll his eyes, but this Glen guy is so earnest and seems so young besides. Steve really doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Thanks,” he says. “I guess.”

Glen beams at him. “No problem.” He picks his drink up and heads off to another table to sidle up to a man in what looks like an expensive business suit. 

Steve sighs, not feeling much better from his pep talk with Glen. Feeling just about ready to change his mind, he stands and makes to head out of the lobby. But Henry’s at the desk now and he’s waving Steve over with a smile. Again, Steve has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Ugh,” he says under his breath. 

“You met Glen, I see,” Henry says once Steve’s made his way over. 

“Yeah.”

“He’s something, huh?”

Steve wants so badly to say something rude but he manages to refrain. “He seems… very experienced.”

Henry chuckles. “Yeah, yeah he is.”

“How the hell old is he?” Steve asks. Henry just raises an eyebrow at him.

“You really want to know the answer to that question?”

Steve gulps. “Uh, no. Guess not.” 

“Thought so.” Henry hands Steve a piece of paper. Steve glances down at it. The room number written on it is 704. “Might be slow tonight,” Henry says. “This guy requested you, special.”

Steve scoffs. “Who the hell doesn’t, these days?” Apparently, he’s a “peach.” Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever not cringe at that phrase again. “Look, Henry,” he hedges. “I don’t know about this anymore. Last weekend was rough. I’m thinking this isn’t for me anymore.”

Henry makes a noise like he thinks that is ridiculous. “What’re you talking about? Stevie you’re my best boy. You’re raking in the dough. You want to give all that up already?”

Steve shrugs, looking at the card again. He wonders how many of these scribbled numbers he’ll have to be stupid enough to take before he winds up getting hurt again. “I got roughed-up, Henry,” he nearly-whispers. He can’t bring himself to say the actual word.

Henry sobers. “What? Who?”

Steve shrugs. “Guy I know as Clifton Danvers. Not sure he used his real name with you…”

Henry goes and picks up a notepad, holds a pen over it. “What room was he in? Last weekend?”

“Yeah, uh, 331 I think. Yeah, that was it.”

Henry’s expression darkens. “Fuck. Fuck fuck.” He writes something down on the notepad and nods at Steve. “I remember him. Don’t worry; he’ll never be back in here.”

Steve scowls. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

“No. Nothing I can do about that.” Henry looks at Steve in concern. “You gonna be alright?” 

Steve shrugs. “I’m fine. Just… I can’t do this anymore. Not after tonight. I thought I could but it’s not worth it.”

Henry looks highly displeased at that, but to Steve’s relief he doesn’t offer any protest. He nods at the card that Steve’s holding. “You gonna go up?”

Steve looks down at it, at the room number scribbled on it. 704. Ha, he thinks. 7.04. That’s his birthday. “I guess,” he mumbles. Might as well do it one last time, make enough money to pay a week’s rent. 

-

Steve stands outside the door to 704 for a long time. A hell of a lot longer than he ever has before. _Come on_ , he tells himself, trying to work up the courage to knock on the door. _Nothing else bad happened before Cliff. You were liking it even, sometimes._ Steve huffs to himself, finding it hard to believe that he had actually gotten a kick out of making such easy money. It doesn’t seem so easy now. He doubts it ever will again. _Oh well_ , he thinks. He’s already up here now. Might as well knock on the door and see who’s on the other side. He thinks of Glen and the stupid litmus test he’d told Steve to use. Steve’s got no idea how the kid ever came up with that one, but he _does_ know that he doesn’t want to do this long enough to come up with “tests” of his own. Steve doesn’t want to be like that boy down there; having lost his new-penny shine and trying hard as hell to add it back with rouge on his cheeks and too much grease in his hair. Steve can’t allow himself to become like that. No. After tonight, he’s done with this. Maybe he and Bucky’ll never have that nice condo on the upper east side, but there are worse things. 

Steve nods his head at the hallway’s carpet, steeling his resolve. He can do this. He’ll just do this one last time, then he’ll go home and figure out how to make life work without the money. _Be brave_ , he tells himself, looking back up to the rich, carved wood of the door. It won’t be Cliff on the other side of that door. No way. And who knows? Maybe it’ll be another sexy dame, or another talker, or some longtime queer like James had been. Steve can just do this, try and enjoy himself, and then go back home and snuggle under the sheets with Bucky. 

Taking a deep breath and raising his hand, he knocks twice on the door.

It opens. 

Steve’s lips part, but he can’t breathe. He feels like he’s forgotten how to inhale and it’s _Bucky_ standing right there and Steve’s first thought is an angry _Bucky! What the hell are you doing paying for sex, you letch?!_

Bucky’s lips are thin. He reaches forward and grabs Steve by the front of his shirt and yanks him into the room. 

-

Bucky winds up pushing him so that he falls back gracelessly onto the bed. Steve’s heart lurches, but Bucky doesn’t make to follow after him. Instead he just paces back and forth over the carpet, looking mad. “ _This_ is what you’ve been doing?” he asks. Surprisingly, his voice isn’t raised. He sounds… baffled.

Steve props himself up with his arms behind him. “Yeah,” he says. No use denying it. “How’d you—”

“Don’t,” Bucky snaps. “Don’t even. You’re a real piece of work, you know that Steve?” He huffs and runs his hands through his hair. “Fuck, I can’t believe this. I shouldda known.”

Steve frowns. “You mad?”

Bucky makes a noise in his throat. “Mad? Stevie, I don’t even—” he cuts off and shakes his head, staring at Steve. “I don’t even know what to say,” he finishes. “I mean Christ, how could you, how did you even begin to do this?” 

Steve gulps. Bucky isn’t yelling yet and somehow that makes it worse. “I just went for a walk one day,” he says, figuring that since he’s been downright caught (caught with his pants down, he thinks in panicked hilarity, and has to fight a laugh down), he might as well just be completely honest at this point. “Went in the lobby on a whim, got approached by Henry.”

Bucky frowns. “Who the hell’s Henry?”

“Well you’d know him as the guy you asked to have me sent up to your room,” Steve snarks. If Bucky even thinks about getting all sanctimonious on him now, Steve’s going to throw a fit.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” 

Bucky stares at him for another long, long moment, and then he sighs. He looks tired all of a sudden. He goes over and joins Steve on the bed, sitting next to him. “So this is the office job?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve admits. “Yeah I… I lied about that.”

Bucky snorts. “I figured that much out awhile ago, pal.”

“Oh.”

Bucky puts his hand atop Steve’s where it rests on the bed covers. “That long huh? Weeks and weeks?”

Steve tries not to flinch. He’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Bucky’s not acting mad yet but soon, soon he will. Soon he’ll tell Steve how disgusting he is and he’ll take back that he loves him and maybe even tell him to move out of the apartment. Steve glances over at him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I was gonna stop after tonight, if you can believe that. Was going to make my last lie be that I lost the office gig.”

Bucky scoffs. “You’re crazy, Steve.” He gestures around at the room. “How many people you been with here?”

Steve bites his lip. He really, really doesn’t want to tell Bucky this... ...He tells him. 

Bucky’s lips part. “Christ on a cracker Steve!”

“I know! I know, I’m sorry. Most of it wasn’t even anything, I swear.”

Bucky holds his hand up. “Spare me the dirty details.”

Steve winces, hurt. So that’s it, he thinks. Bucky thinks he’s dirty after all. He’s gone and fucked up any chance he ever had at being with Bucky. “Yeah,” he mumbles, moving to sit all the way up and get off the bed. “Yeah I get it.” He stands, intending to leave, but Bucky’s hand grabs his wrist. When Steve turns around, Bucky’s looking at him with a pinched expression. 

“Don’t leave, Stevie,” he says. “I want to talk.”

Steve frowns. “But… don’t you want me to get out of your sight?”

“What? No!” Bucky huffs, looking put-out. “I don’t want you to get outta my sight. I want you to stay _in_ my sight. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I’ll probably wanna drag you to work with me forevermore just so I’ll know you aren’t… you aren’t doing _this_!”

Steve stands there, dumb for a second. “You mean you… you still want…”

Bucky must sense what he’s thinking, because his face morphs from an expression of intense frustration, to one of tenderness. “Ah hell Steve, I don’t want you to go. You’d have to fuck half of Brooklyn before I felt that.” He twists his lips, looks away. “Hell, maybe not even then.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. He feels sick and faint and unbelievably relieved all at the same time. “You… still love me?”

Bucky meets his eyes again, this time looking at Steve like he thinks he’s the dumbest person on earth. “You’re it for me, Steve.”

“Oh.” Steve is going to… he’s going to… He sits down on the bed roughly, before his legs can decide to give out. “Well fuck,” he breathes.

Bucky huffs. “You said it.” He looks at Steve, stern and looking like he’d like to kick the ever-living shit out of him …or maybe kiss him. Steve can’t tell. “You’re a damned idiot, Rogers.”

Steve winces. “I know. I’m sor—”

Bucky jabs him in the chest with a finger. “If you say you’re sorry, I’ll kill ya.” Steve snaps his lips shut. Bucky grunts in satisfaction and looks down at his lap. He’s quiet for a long minute, thinking. When he does speak again, he asks quietly, almost meekly, “You did it for the money, I’m assuming?”

“…Yeah.”

“Figured.” Bucky sighs. “I don’t want you to do it anymore, Steve.”

“I _told_ you I was going to stop.”

“Good.” Bucky glances over to Steve, rolls his eyes, then allows himself to flop down onto his back on the bed. After a beat, Steve does too, and they turn their heads to regard one another over the covers. “You are the biggest piece of work I ever met,” Bucky mumbles. He sounds annoyed still, but his fingers do find Steve’s on the bed between them and give them a squeeze. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Take me home and spank me?” Steve suggests, blushing as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“What?!” Bucky glares at him. “Fuck Steve. You telling me some pervert smacked you around or something?”

Steve blanches. He sits up in a hurry, shrugging Bucky’s hand away. “No!” he says. “I was just kidding Buck. Jesus!”

Bucky isn’t convinced. He scoots closer to Steve, grabbing him against his body and holding him tight. “Tell me,” he says, voice firm and quiet. “Steve, please. I need to know. Did somebody hurt you while you were doing this?”

Steve shrugs, hating that he can’t lie to Bucky even about this. “Just one,” he whispers. “Just one time.”

“Fuck,” Bucky hisses, sounding mad and sad. “That night. When you flipped out in bed and—”

“Yeah.”

Bucky presses his forehead hard into Steve’s shoulder and asks the question that Steve doesn’t want him to. “Who?”

“You think I know these guys?” 

“ _Steve_.”

“Ugh.” Steve squinches his eyes shut. This is not going to go well. “Clifton Danvers.”

… … “That Fuckface from your church?!”

“Yeah.”

Bucky grabs Steve by his shoulders and pushes him roughly back down to the covers. Steve squeaks in surprise but goes without protest. Bucky will never hurt him, he knows that. “I’m sorry,” he says without thinking about it.

“The fuck?” Bucky says. “You don’t apologize Steve.” Bucky is glaring. “I’m going to fucking kill him. I’m gonna—”

“Bucky, _no_.” Steve pulls on Bucky urgently, and Bucky comes down to rest over him. Steve shakes his head and tells him. “I’m fine now. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky in _no_ way looks like he agrees, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he brings one hand up and thumbs a piece of hair away from Steve’s forehead. “You promise me,” he says, voice serious and quiet. “You promise me you won’t ever come back here. Please Steve. Promise.”

“I promise.”

Bucky stares at him long and hard. Just to make sure, Steve figures. Bucky must believe him, because he eventually exhales a puff of breath against Steve’s face. “Aw, hell Steve.”

“You said that already.”

“I love you, you twerp,” Bucky says, pinching Steve’s side in retaliation for the quip. “And you’re going to send me to an early grave, doing stuff like this.”

“…Do you forgive me?” Steve doesn’t feel like he deserves forgiveness, but he’s hopeful, because Bucky hasn’t yelled at him yet.  


“I’ll forgive you when you let me beat the ever loving shit outta Clifton Danvers.” Bucky thunks his head down next to Steve’s face in the bedcovers and let his body lay unrepentantly heavy atop Steve’s. Steve grunts and figures he’s maybe going to have to take that bargain. 

“Bucky?” he asks after a moment, feeling a little suffocated from Bucky’s weight.

“Mmm?”

“Are we going home?”

Bucky pulls himself up. He looks down at Steve with another look that says he thinks Steve is a regular moron. “Are you nuts? I paid twenty bucks for this room. Checkout’s tomorrow at noon and we’re not leaving a minute before.”

Steve just gawps and tries not to get offended that an hour of his time is worth half of that.

.oOo.

Three weeks later, Steve has skipped mass twice and is startled awake by a fully-dressed and finely-groomed Bucky, who urges him to get up and put his Sunday clothes on. “I’m going with you to mass,” he says, accepting no argument from Steve. He practically pushes him all the way down to St. Anne’s, and Steve has to grab his wrist when they’re just outside the doors. 

“Bucky, I can’t,” he says, afraid. “He’ll be in there.” 

Bucky just pulls him close and lands a kiss on his temple. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see. Trust me.” He leads Steve into the church and drags him up to sit in the third pew back. 

Steve eventually gets the nerve to glance back to the sixth pew. His mouth parts in astonishment when he does. Clifton Danvers and his family are all there …only Cliff’s face is busted all to hell and his entire right arm is in a cast. When he catches sight of Steve, he blanches and hurriedly averts his eyes. Steve whips back around in his seat and looks at Bucky. “What the hell?”

“Careful Stevie, we’re in God’s house.”

Steve would punch Bucky, but as Bucky already mentioned: they’re in God’s house. “What the _heck_ did you do?” he hisses.

Bucky’s lips quirk at the edges. “I didn’t do anything. The O’Malley brothers did.”

“What?!” Several older parishioners a row over shoot Steve dirty looks, and Steve winces in apology. He looks back at Bucky. “What?” he asks again. 

“Don’t you worry Stevie,” Bucky tells him, sounding completely smug about it. “Mr. Danvers has a very clear understanding now of what will happen if he ever hurts you or any other guy again.”

Steve gulps. “And what’s that?” he’s not sure he wants to know. 

Bucky shrugs. “Something Riley called a Glasgow Smile.”

“A what?”

“Seriously Steve? Use your imagination. I didn’t ask.”

Steve gulps again, glances back again at Clifton. The man looks at Steve like he’s Riley O’Malley himself. “Yeah,” he says to Bucky as he turns back around. “Yeah. Okay.”

.oOo.

Clifton Danvers and his family move away not long after that. Steve shows Bucky how much money he _really_ made and adds Bucky’s name to the bank account. The two of them wind of dogging each other for their bad choices for the next few weeks or so, but eventually it just becomes the past, and the present becomes filled up with better things.

Steve gets a part time gig doing advertisement posters at the gazette and he starts back up at the college. Bucky keeps on at the garage until a full-time position opens up and he’s promoted. And by the time the papers declare the depression over in October of that next year, they’re doing alright, getting by with a little bit of luck and a lot of love. Bucky takes to calling Steve his husband, and Steve just smiles and punches him every time he does. “Shut up,” he tells him. “We’re just a couple’a regular old queers."

And that’s fine too.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Love Letter or Suicide Note](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16332719) by [KMO27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMO27/pseuds/KMO27)




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